


Where the Waters Meet, There Find Magic

by calicofold



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Arthurian legend - Freeform, Gen, Highlander Fanfic Season, The Lake District, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicofold/pseuds/calicofold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the season finale for Highlander Fanfic Season I,  based on an idea by Sophie Duncan. The story was originally posted there on 6th March 1998. Duncan and Richie head to Scotland for a holiday. Meanwhile Amanda and Methos are in trouble in the Pyrenees...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Waters Meet, There Find Magic

MONS BADONICUS: 422 AD 

The racket was incredible, and getting worse. The Saxons had got to some of the horses, and the animals' screams as the hamstrings were severed were terrible, echoing off the hill and down to the town huddled, frightened and still at its foot. 

Methos turned his head constantly, eyes alert, sword raised, waiting for the next attacker to reach him. Seconds later it came, a man, this one in his early twenties, cheeks streaked with mud which half covered the charcoal patterns. Methos picked out the sigils of Thor. _Another berserker if I'm really lucky._ Even as the thought crossed his mind the boy screamed and swung his axe wildly. 

Methos countered easily, pushing the insanely careless fighter back. His arms ached, his back and shoulders were sore - he'd taken and healed from more wounds than he could remember, but nothing was more important than his job. _It's not just a job though, not any more,_ he admitted privately, knocking the Saxon sword aside and lunging in to disembowel him. Methos' opponent clutched at his belly, eyes shocked back into pain and sanity, trying to hold the grey-blue guts inside. Methos kicked his feet out from under him and moved on to the next. And the next. And the next. 

At his back Gawain did the same, holding the enemy back from their employer. It wasn't enough, not always, and sometimes the king had to raise the sword against the occasional man who slipped past his bodyguards. 

"My Lord Dragon," Methos called back, as one such opponent attacked. "Need a hand?" There was the flash of teeth in a grin, the flash of a sword, and Methos inclined his head. "My apologies." 

The king nodded briefly, and said, "Look to yourself, Bedfyr." 

Sword already up he had to dodge away a couple of steps to avoid the blow aimed at his chest. 

"I may be old, but I've still a sword hand, " the king added cheerfully. 

"No, sir. _Methos_ is old, you're but a babe in arms," Gawain laughed, gasping for breath, taking advantage of a brief lull in the attacks on his side to roll his shoulders and wipe his face of sweat and dust and blood. 

"Thank you, _old friend_ ," Methos said with heavy irony lacing his voice between sword strokes. This one was a little better. It was over quickly nonetheless. _Peasants and pirates, with no more idea of the art of war than a new-born,_ he thought contemptuously. _This is just butchery. Not that that's a reason to stop fighting._ He grinned viciously, a feral kind of look that had the next man to attack him backing away before they even crossed blades. Another mortal dead at his feet. 

"Anytime," Gawain replied brightly, as always ignoring Methos' moods. "Besides, _you_ can't die. You still owe me for that game of knuckles last night. Twenty denarii, remember?" 

"I paid you." 

"Didn't" 

"Did!" 

"No, you didn't." 

"My friends." Both heads turned to the king. He smiled mildly at them and said, "A little concentration on the matter at hand?" 

Even as he spoke Gawain gasped, his face ashen. Protruding from his back was a sword point. 

"Gawain!" The king dropped to his knees beside his favourite warrior. 

"Sire! No! I'll be all right!" Methos was only two steps away, but it was too far. 

"Sire!" 

"No!" 

Two voices. One thought. Too late. 

A sword ripped through Arthur's chest. 

"Mordred. . ." he whispered through the blood in his throat. 

The darkeyed man pulled the sword out and raised it again, tears running down his face. 

"For Amr, father," and the sword descended again. 

To be met, and forced back. Methos stood over Arthur's body, eyes raw with fury. 

"You bastard." 

"So true. He'll die no matter what you do now." 

Methos shrugged infinitesimally. "So will you." 

"No dynasty of a thousand Great Dragons to rule the People then. So much for dreams hey?" Mordred's face look almost sad for a moment, then the mask shuttered across his features, the one that had become a part of him the day that Arthur had killed Mordred's half brother, Arthur's only legitimate son. He saluted Methos, "For Amr." 

Methos' lips twisted, despite everything with something like pity. "For Arthur." 

It took longer than most of the combats had that day. Methos had, after all, taught Mordred the art of the sword. A small, dark eyed shadow to the blond blue eyed half brother, almost twins, both full of life and joy. 

In moments it was done. The son lay across the father , a grotesque parody of forgiveness. 

After a moment, when the sound of the battle around them seemed to fail and vanish, Arthur Pen Dragon's hand moved slowly, painfully, to brush across Mordred's pale features. "Bedfyr." 

Methos was vaguely aware of Gawain reawakening. He ignored it as he ignored the cries of dismay from the field, as he knelt by Arthur. 

"The sword. It has to go back to the lake. Please?" 

"Sire. . ." _I don't cry. I don't cry. I don't cry._ But his eyes weren't listening. 

"Promise me. . . Methos. Promise me." The blue eyes held him, seeing as always, all the man. 

"I promise." Methos the pragmatist faced the inevitable, and carefully lifted the king. Sword into the worn scabbard. King in his arms. 

"Mor. . . Mordred." 

"He'll lie for the dogs and the ravens." He promised. 

"No." the words barely audible. "With me. With. . .Amr." 

"Arthur?" Gawain's voice, soft with shock. 

"You heard. Do. It." 

From the crest of the hill the women were coming down. In moments they were around him, silent tears on their cheeks, allowing him to carry the king to the tent. Behind him Gawain cradled the son of the king, architect of the destruction behind them. 

As the sun set the field seemed bathed in red. Light burning from swords and helmets in their scattered windrows across the tattered grass. Figures moved silently, searching for those they knew. There was no looting. The still was preternatural, as the whole world waited. 

It dipped and vanished into the distant, unseen sea. As it vanished the flag, red on white, rampant dragon of Gwynedd snarling yet at the Saxon invader, dipped and fell. It was over. 

The king was dead. 

Long live the Saxon. 

* * *

PART ONE 

PARIS: March 1998 

Altea was perched on the windowsill watching as Richie rummaged through the 'clean pile'. Laundry apparently had two categories, and neither could be described as tidy. Consequently now that he needed clothes for a week it required a major search - on the whole, the windowsill was the safest place, she reflected, faintly amused. 

"You sure you don't wanna come?" He emerged briefly to throw three socks and a shirt onto the bed, then vanished. 

"No thank you," she said politely, a faint smile on her lips. 

"Why not?" 

"Because he invited you, not me." 

"That means you're included - where you go, I go. And vice versa. Aha!" A pair of black jeans joined the pile. 

"That's not the point, besides, I can't leave. I've got commitments." 

"Horses," he said resignedly. "If they were human I'd be jealous. I might be jealous anyway." His head popped up from behind the bed. "Look, seriously, you can if you want to. Won't you think about it?" 

"I think he wants you to himself for a while. I'm always around, and he's still not sure about me, I know it." 

"Not that again? Altea, I keep telling you. . ." 

"I know, I know. I just. . ." she shrugged fluidly. "Apart from you, and our Immortality, he and I have nothing - but nothing, in common. And he hasn't seen you much this last little while." 

"Yes he has. Hell, I've barely been around for more than a couple of weeks at a time for years." He came over and stood in front of her, taking both her hands in his own and looked questioningly down at her. "Besides, just think what happened the last time I went off with him." 

"But that was different, wasn't it?" 

Richie nodded. "No brats to run after this time - I _hope_ ," he added fervently. 

"It'll be fine then," she smiled reassuringly back at him. "Besides, I've things to do here. Tidying up for instance." Richie had the grace to look sheepishly at the floor, littered with bits of scribbled on paper, notebooks, printouts and clothing. 

"Don't move any of my work! Please?" 

She patted his cheek. "You'll be able to find it all, I promise. It may take a while to sort through the black bags, but it will all be in there." 

"Al. . ." _That was a definite whine,_ she thought with a smirk. 

"Don't worry. You go do your male bonding, and I'll stay here where it's warm and dry. I've heard about Scotland." 

Richie just looked at her. 

* * *

"Joe! Hello Adam, Duncan," Amanda breezed onto the barge aiming light kisses at the three men enjoying the spring sunshine. 

"Hello Amanda," Joe replied cheerfully, a faintly malicious smile on his usually kind face. 

"Hmph," Methos grunted vaguely, and seemed to burrow deeper under the consoling darkness of his sunglasses. 

Duncan didn't even answer, just looked at her pallidly, squinting painfully against the light, a sketch of a smile on his face. 

Amanda assessed the situation and grinned unkindly. "Been having fun without me boys?" she asked, a little too loudly. Methos seemed to flinch, his already pale skin gaining an odd green shade before a gritted look thinned his cheeks, and he didn't throw up. 

"Great stomach control," she complimented him. 

"Thank you. S'amazing what you learn in five thousand years." 

Amanda took pity on the two sufferers and perched next to Joe. "So how come you're the only one without a hangover this morning?" 

"Oh, I was operating the tape recorder. . ." Joe said airily. 

"What!" yelled Duncan. Methos moaned faintly and clapped his hands over his ears. "Dawson, that was off the record, and well you know it." 

Joe just grinned at his irate Immortal. 

Amanda smirked. "This is your 'fill-the-gaps' thing, right?" she asked Joe, ignoring Duncan's sputterings. 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Got some great material too. Damn, I didn't know some of that stuff was physically possible," he teased wickedly. 

"What!" Duncan hit a note unvisited since the early 1600's. Methos just moaned again. 

"But don't worry, Mac," he went on brightly, "I sent it all off to be transcribed - posted it back to the States first thing this morning before you were able to crawl out to meet the day." 

"Posted it?" It was only the second coherent sentence all morning from Methos. "You entrusted _that_ to the French and US postal services? Dear gods, why did I think this was a good idea? Maybe I can do Oprah when it hits the newstands." This seemed to comfort him momentarily. 

Joe just laughed. 

"Duncan?" Amanda said coyly, a finger rubbing up and down in a short line on his sweatshirt. 

"She wants something," Methos observed. 

"You spotted that well," Joe said admiringly. 

"Comes with the territory, Watching. . ." they both collapsed into smothered laughter as Amanda glared warningly at them. 

"Could we go inside?" making it more of a command than a request to the Highlander. 

"2-1 she gets whatever she wants," Methos said. This time it was Duncan's turn to glare. 

Amanda tugged Duncan to one side, since he showed no signs of moving to the interior of the barge. "I need your help." 

"Amanda," he said plaintively. 

"It's perfectly safe. Really." Her small face was almost earnest, with just a faint sparkle of mischief. 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No. But if you want to come along with me to Scotland you're quite welcome." 

"But Mac. . ." 

"I've already arranged it all, and I'm leaving at noon, so you've got that long to make up your mind." 

She pouted prettily, and sat down next to Methos. 

"No," he told her firmly. 

"But I haven't even said anything yet." 

"You didn't need to. Your expression said it all." 

"Oh. Well, you wouldn't be interested anyway." 

"Interested in what?" Joe asked helpfully. Amanda looked up at the mortal with a dazzling, and wholly spurious, smile. 

"Ancient treasure!" she said dramatically. Duncan groaned. "Don't give me that," she said crossly, "you haven't heard anything about it yet." 

"Go on," he said resignedly. "It'll kill the time till Richie gets here." 

"Misery. Look." And she produced a photocopied map. "This is the Pyrenees - it took me a while to identify the right range - my contact told me it was in the Carpathians. And _this_ is Mont St Remy du Bois. Now, half way up it, beyond the LaMartine Pass is a footpath which you don't-hey!" 

Methos had pushed the sunglasses up off his nose and casually plucked the paper from Amanda's fingers, and was looking at it wearing an faint expression of supercilious amusement. He smoothed it out on his lap, tracing the red dotted lines marked in on it. 

"Dear me. This old thing again," he said, and waved it back at her, dropping back on the chair and lowering the dark glasses again, ostentatiously closing his eyes. 

"Methos!" The aggravated cry burst from all three of his companions. 

"Do you know about it?" Joe asked anxiously. 

" _What_ do you know about it?" Amanda said suspiciously. 

Duncan just laughed. "You can't leave it like that," he finally composed himself enough to say, "you'll be on the receiving end of a lynch mob." 

"Duncan, make him say something!" 

"Me?" Duncan grinned innocently at her. 

"Doh!" 

Joe, with his long acquaintance with the man just waited. _He can work an audience like a pro,_ he thought admiringly. _On second thoughts he probably _is_ a pro - or was once._

"You could be in for something of a surprise when you get there my dear." Methos remarked, apropos of nothing in particular. 

"Why? You've got the treasure already? I knew it! When I find that con merchant I'll string him up by his nasal hairs." Even Methos blinked slightly at this one. 

"No. If anything, you might say I put it there." 

"Why? It _is_ treasure!" Amanda's eyes could already see it, glinting in a veritable dragon's horde of ancient wealth. 

"Nope." Was that a smirk? Amanda hrrumphed sourly at the eldest Immortal. 

"Maybe it is treasure and you just don't want me to find it." 

"Maybe," he said agreeably. "You won't find anything with _that_ map though." 

"Oh yeah?" Amanda took a step forward, hands on hips. 

"Yeah." That _was_ a smirk. Not only that but he folded his hands behind his head. 

"What is 'it' then?" Duncan asked, trying to head off the inevitable confrontation. 

"Treasures to die for," she said challengingly. 

"Treasures of the dead," Methos said condescendingly. "You really should brush up your Brythonig. A small difference in the wording, but a major difference in the meaning. Still, the subtleties of Old Welsh grammar always were beyond the grasp of most. Confusing the dative and the genitive is a common error among the semi literate." 

Joe hissed quietly in sympathy as Amanda's face turned to stone. He and Duncan unconsciously stepped closer to each other, away from the sparring immortals. 

"Hi guys!" There was a loud thump and a heavy bag, bursting at the seams landed on the deck. It was followed by Richie, bounding up the gang-plank. "Hey, what's up? Playing Quakers?" 

"Richard?" Methos said softly. 

"Yeah?" he smiled cheerfully, oblivious to the undercurrents. 

"Shut up." 

"Seconded." Amanda added sharply. 

"Hey, all right, all right. Geez, you guys got out of bed on the wrong side for sure. Look Mac, are we still on for noon? Cos if so shouldn't we be hitting the road a s a p?" He lapsed into silence when MacLeod glared at him, but looked at his wristwatch ostentatiously, then sat down on the over full holdall, in a patch of spring sunshine. 

" _My_ source said, "that Charlemagne placed his greatest treasure there, and placed a guard over it of ten giants and a dragon." 

Richie rolled his eyes and snorted quietly, and was ignored. 

Methos laughed outright. "No such thing as dragons." 

"Like there was no such thing as demons?" Joe asked mildly. "Sorry Mac,"" he added when he caught Duncan's wince. 

"Besides, it was long before Charlemagne. He wasn't born till 742 or so, my ignorant little scavenger." 

Richie, Duncan and Joe all flinched. Amanda smiled sweetly. 

"How do you know?" 

"Read a history book." 

"Oh, so this treasure is mentioned in the history books." 

"No, Charlemagne's dates are," Methos said as aggravatingly as possible. "If you're going to talk history you might at least get it _right_." 

"So you put it there." 

"In a manner of speaking," Methos turned slightly more cautious. 

"So what is it?" 

"You'll just have to go see." 

"You don't know! You probably just want to stop me going so you can get there first. No, I've got the map, and you aren't getting your hands on it." 

"Your loss." 

"Accept it, you're wrong. There's something you don't know anything about and you can't bear to admit it. So you're sitting there pretending to be some kind of omniscient god on high, dropping remarks that could mean anything, and mostly mean nothing." 

Goaded he retorted, "Accept this Miss Skinny-butt. I was _there_." 

Amanda was silenced, though only briefly. "Duncan, are you going to let him get away with that?" 

Duncan raised his hands, "Don't involve me!" he said hastily. 

"Wimp." 

"Wuss." For a moment the two combatants found themselves in complete agreement. But only for a moment. 

"I suppose you know everything," Amanda said nastily. 

"Not everything, just that you'll be disappointed if you go to that cave." Methos concealed a grin. Amanda was actually going to fall for this silliness. 

"Why?" 

"Because it's not something you can sell." 

"Think Scone," Duncan said helpfully, getting into the swing of things. 

"I'll deal with you later," she fired at him. "So Mr Smart Alec, you know everything, then where's the Inca gold?" 

"A mountain in the Andes, in sight of the Pacific." 

"Camelot?" 

"Never existed." 

"What?" Joe burst out, and was quelled by a glare from Methos. "Oh, aye, I'm silent." 

"Arthur's still alive." Duncan offered cheerfully, and with malice aforethought.. 

"He is not. He did not exist. Trust me. I saw a thousand petty warlords, and not one answered to Arthurus rex." He finished contemptuously dismissive. 

"Right, you were there too," Amanda scoffed. "Except you couldn't have been, because he didn't exist, so you couldn't have been, so what do you know anyway?" She glanced at the others with a hint of triumph in her eyes. 

"He wasn't called Arturus Rex anyway," Richie cast aside good sense, again, and joined the fray. "It was probably a mishearing of a battle name - the bear. And Pendragon is like Celtic or something for top dragon. It was like a totem animal for the kingdom of Gwynedd. Or -- something like that," he looked around at his elders, all of whom had been stunned into silence, wearing expressions that suggested he should quit while he was ahead. Defensively he said, "You've gotta do research for this writing stuff." 

"Richie, you write bodice rippers. Why. . .? No, no, don't tell me, I've changed my mind," Joe said, a pained look crossing his face, "I don't think I can bear the idea of what you are about to do to one of my favourite stories." 

The distraction had served to take some of the vim out of the argument, and everyone but Richie trailed after Duncan as he went into the barge to collect the last of his baggage. 

He looked at them with a faint smile. "Would you like to come along too?" 

Joe's eyes twinkled. 

Duncan couldn't help grinning. "Not you - I _know_ you're coming along." 

"If I knew where though I could book ahead," the Watcher said hopefully. 

"Joseph, I'm shocked," but he was smiling back. "I've heard that the Royal Stag, Edinburgh, is a very pleasant place to stop for a week or two. But you didn't hear that." 

Joe winked at him. "Hear what?" he said innocently. "I'll see you. Adam, Amanda," he nodded to the other two and walked slowly from the room. 

"Well? Scotland's glorious this time of year. Cold and bright, no tourists, just glens and lochs so beautiful they'll take yer breath away." 

Methos looked at Amanda. Amanda looked at Methos. 

Hiking. 

No shopping. 

Boy Scout on home territory. 

No amenities. 

"You know, I think I'll help Amanda find that cave of hers." 

"That's very kind of you, Methos," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Now, what was in it?" 

"Oh, some Arthurian relic or other, supposedly. I never really understood the excitement over it really. It wasn't terribly important, but the _fuss_. . . " 

Duncan shook his head and left them to it. 

* * *

CUMBRIA, ENGLAND, 12 HOURS LATER 

"So, tell me again Mac, why didn't we fly straight to Edinburgh and meet your friend?" Richie's faintly muffled tone of polite enquiry was belied by the glare. 

Duncan avoided Richie's eyes. Not difficult, since they were both leaning over the inside of the rented car hood, peering at the cooling engine. The torch gripped between Richie's teeth made very little impression on the dark night and mist pressing in on them. 

"I thought it would be a good chance for you to see some of the countryside, maybe take you up to Glenfinnan when I've finished the business with Jessica. You've never really seen--" 

"Yes, I have Mac. I went to school here, remember?" If anything the scowl deepened, and he carefully unscrewed a cap from something. 

"Only for a couple of weeks. And you never saw Scotland," Duncan pointed out. "This is about the best way." 

"What is? Broken down in England? Stuck with someone who can't map read, in the middle of the night in a place that doesn't even know about chilli dogs, staring at a dead engine without so much as a telephone in sight. Yeah, right, great way to see Scotland. No, wait," he stood and squinted into the distance, shading his eyes. Duncan followed his gaze, but couldn't make out anything. 

"Oops, sorry there, almost thought I saw a genuine piece of Scottish land there. My mistake." He leaned over to examine the engine some more. 

"Rich..." he said warningly. 

"Advice, free and gratis. Don't ever," a hand waved at him in emphasis, holding what appeared to be part of the carburettor, "piss off the guy fixing your car." 

"Could it be the fuses? Or the starter motor?" he pushed lightly at something large and ridged. It moved slightly. 

"Leave it alone!" Richie yelled. "Sorry," he added instantly. 

Duncan straightened so fast his elbow caught the prop, knocking it sideways. It fell across Richie, followed by the hood, which came within bare inches of hitting Richie, saved only by MacLeod's reflex grab for it. 

Richie froze, and carefully slid out. "Mac," he said patiently. "How about, you sit in the car, and I fix it?" 

" _Can_ you fix it?" 

"It's a damn sight more likely than you fixing it," he told him brutally. "And I'm a damn sight less likely to become the first Immortal topped by a falling car bonnet without you around to 'help'." 

Duncan took a couple of steps away, trying hard not to interfere, but not convinced. He looked around, reviewing what he could see of the landscape in the midnight darkness. To either side of the road was a low drystone wall, flat layers of stone stacked intricately over each other. The road was barely wide enough for two cars to pass. Off to the right he could hear water lapping softly. Another lake, and if he knew which one, they'd be that much better off. The other side was barred by a steep slope, he could just make out the tangled shapes of trees and tattered undergrowth. The sky was overcast, no light beyond the faint distant orange glow that could be Manchester, or Keswick - no telling. No stars visible, nor the moon, although it should be full. The forecast had been for rain, and more storms. _Oh well, at least it's not..._ There was a distinct splat on his forehead. He wiped at it. Water. In moments it was pouring down, he glanced reprovingly up at the sky, and as the flood broke loose he saw a distant light, diffused through the fog, flick on, then off again. 

"Rich?" 

"Yeah?" Richie stuck his head out of the bonnet of the car and grimaced as he felt the rain hit his face. "It needed only that." 

"I saw a light up the road." He jerked his head. "I'll go see if there's anyone around to help." 

"Sure. I might get this thing working again," he shrugged, "If I do, I'll follow you. Otherwise, you'll find a dissolved puddle on the floor in the morning." 

"You could--" 

"Nah. I've almost got it - I think. I'll probably catch you up. Besides, I can always sleep in the car if I have to." 

"You sure?" 

Richie favoured him with a look, then turned back to the engine. "You take care." 

"See you later." 

There was no reply, so Duncan started walking. 

* * *

THE PYRENNEES, EARLIER THE SAME NIGHT 

"What was that?" Dominic rocked onto the edge of his seat, clutching his gun to him nervily. The others exchanged a patient look. 

"Dominic, calm down," Pierre grinned at the youngest of the three guards. "There's nothing out there." 

"No, I'm not panicking. I'm sure I heard something," Dominic repeatedly firmly, head cocked towards the exit of their hide. 

"He's right, Pierre. Listen," the third man said, lifting his hand for quiet. In the evening still they could just hear voices, which were getting steadily closer. 

Pierre nodded, the smile instantly gone, and the three of them noiselessly retrieved their weapons, flipping the safeties off, checking the clips were secure. They crouched, one at each lookout point, waiting. 

A woman's voice came floating up. "If you'd listened when I said we didn't need -- wait _up_ -need to take that last left turn. . ." 

"My dear Amanda. If we hadn't gone left we would have fallen off the side of this mountain of yours." 

"A minor inconvenience," she dismissed his objection blithely, to a muffled snort from Dominic. 

"Tourists!" he said contemptuously, and was quickly hushed by the other two. 

"Oh, and while we're on the topic of directions, _who_ had the map till twenty minutes ago? _Who_ said that there was this 'darling little auberge just around the corner' more than five hours ago? The man's voice was getting closer , his clarion British accent cutting the peace and quiet to ribbons. 

"Methos, if you'd give me the map back I could tell you exactly where. . ." 

"Not a chance kiddo." There were sounds of a scuffle, a ripping of paper and twin cries of dismay. 

"Look what you've done!" 

"Look what _I've_ done? My dear Amanda," 

"Don't you patronise me, you over-ego'd, under-brained, pitiful excuse for a man," she said through gritted teeth. 

"Oh really?" 

"Yeah. Wanna make something of it?" 

"Anytime you think you're up to it." 

"Whenever you're ready _old_ man." There was a rustle and a silence. 

"I can see something!" The other two guards rushed to Pierre's vantage point. "Don't shove," he whispered harshly. "What the hell?" he added as they got their first clear glimpse of the two tourists. 

Some fifty yards below them, circling each other warily in the moonlight, a man and a woman, both fair skinned and dark haired - almost alike enough to be related, Pierre thought absently. Both held a sword, gripping it competently, the blades flashing in the faint light. There was a brief flurry of blows, and the man cut across her shoulder. The onlookers gasped when they realised the blades were live, and blood poured down her shoulder, leaving a spreading stain on the pale blouse she was wearing. 

She swore and dodged back, bringing the sword up again after a moment. "Look, Adam, this is silly. Can you imagine what Mac would _ow_!" There was a crash and a rush of sound. "oooooooOOoow!" 

Adam peered at the hopping Amanda. "You'll live." She sat down with a humpf and rubbed at the offending ankle. 

"Probably broke it, and we'll be stuck here all night, and it's _your_ fault," she groused sourly. "Hey, are you paying attention here?" Pierson was walking around the almost circular flat area, frowning distractedly. 

"Adam?" Amanda suddenly didn't sound half so whiny. There was an edge to it that included a question the three onlookers couldn't decipher. 

"I--" he looked outwards towards the peaks surrounding them and paused, head tilted. He turned slowly, facing back up the mountain, dawning recognition on his face. "I know this." He said softly. 

"Here?" Amanda scrambled to her feet, sprained ankle apparently forgotten. 

"Just up here, I think. Good grief. That damn thing was right. I'd forgotten about this." 

" _Told_ you I knew what I was doing. And I _knew_ you didn't know anything about it," she said smugly. For a miracle Adam let it pass. He was walking quickly towards the barely visible path that he had spotted, on a line directly past the hide, where the three armed men were giving each other alarmed looks. 

"Give them some rope. . ." Pierre said in a low voice, pitched only to carry as far as his comrades ears. "Then. . ." The third guard grinned viciously, dragging the edge of his hand graphically across his throat. Dominic looked slightly green and Pierre frowned. It was the boy's first real test since being allowed to join the Watch. Mentally he shrugged, he'd get over it or he wouldn't. Time would show. 

  
Methos scrambled up the path. It was only really the gaps between the tumbled boulders, not a real path at all. It was a couple of seconds though before he registered the footprints. Heavy boots by the look of it, leaving their mark in drying mud and trampled grass. Wordlessly he beckoned Amanda forward and pointed with the hand away from the direction of the prints. Their eyes met. 

"Climbers?" she said hopefully, her tones suddenly quiet. 

He shook his head and flicked his eyes around, never pausing as he caught sight of the hide. Without moving his lips he said, "Keep walking. Forty metres up, ten to the left." 

She nodded slightly, face serious and calculating. "Some chocolate," she asked brightly, and swung her back pack around until she could reach one of the outside pockets. As she handed him a bar of candy she palmed the small gun tucked away next to it. He smiled approvingly as he bit into the chocolate. 

"I heard, years back, there were dragons in these mountains." She spoke almost soundlessly. "That was oh, nine hundred or so years back." 

Methos kept moving up the steep slope. "Guards. It was supposed to be three guards, all the time. The man setting it up was a fool. No understanding of reality or history." He shook his head in amazement. "To think he's still at it." 

"At _what_?" she hissed. 

"You'll see." 

"That has to be one of the most irritating phrases in the universe." 

"I know." 

Past the hide. Pretending not to see it, burbling about touristy things - the weather, their feet, the distance to the next pub. Methos narrowed his eyes against the dark. Perhaps another hundred yards. Fifty. Ten. 

He took a quick look around, then abruptly dodged sideways, heading for the almost invisible cave entrance. Amanda froze for a moment _You might give me some warning!_ and she was following, but she'd hesitated that fraction of a second too long. 

The still of the evening shattered with the chatter of a sub-machine gun. 

_Uzi,_ she identified absently as she dropped, rolled and scrambled for cover. Suddenly the ground was hard against her face, and a burning heaviness ripped into her shoulder. There was a moment of numb puzzlement as her body tried to tell her what her mind already rationally knew. She tried to pull herself to the cover of the cave where Methos was crouched, hand outstretched, but she was...so...tired... 

Methos swore as Amanda's body jerked and fell. She moved, for a moment he hoped she had just tripped, but it was clear as she moved that she had been hit. There was something in the way she held herself. She was dead, and the most he could do for her right now was hide until they buried her, and then dig her up again. He retreated further into the cavern. It would offer concealment - and maybe he would finally find out whether the thing that idiot had put here was still waiting. It wasn't. What he saw instead was much, much worse. 

"Impossible!" he exclaimed, foolishly shocked into speaking at the sight of the heavily built up room that lay where an empty cavern once stood. "Oh hell," he added, diving to get behind the great granite block, too late. 

His last thought before he died was that _someone_ was going to be very, very cross. And it was probably going to be him. 

* * *

CUMBRIA 

He stepped back from the car, and absently wiped his hands on his jeans. Nope, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Richie shrugged and wandered across to perch on the wall and wait, oblivious to the water soaking from the cold surface through his pants. 

"Who are you?" The unexpected voice didn't seem to make much noise, but it was everywhere nonetheless. Richie jumped to his feet and backed up to the car, keeping it behind his back, hand finding his sword and loosening it in the scabbard. Just in case. He couldn't see whoever it was. 

_Damn fog,_ Richie thought. _why did I ever think going anywhere with Mac would be a good idea? Why the hell am I in this bloody place anyway?_

"Because I want you here." the voice answered his thoughts. 

"What are you talking about. Show yourself. Who are _you_?" 

"Ah. You are the right one then. Good." 

"Huh? Hello? I mean, did I miss a part of the conversation there?" His back prickled, as if a bead were being drawn on it. Richie circled nervously, sword raised, straining to see through the heavy mist rising from the water. He moved slowly, trying to keep his surroundings under surveillance, whirling suddenly at each unexpected sound. "Where are you? Can you help? What do you want?" 

"Calm _down_ Richie." 

Richie felt his heart rate and breathing slow. His anxiety subsided, and an odd calm took its place. _What the hell?_ He finally connected the oddly authoritative tone of voice with his mental state, and asked, "How the hell did you do that?" Something Mac had once mentioned occurred to him. "Oh, I get it. You're doing that weird voice thing on me, aren't you?" 

"Yes," It sounded almost amused. "I suppose you could put it like that." 

"So," he cast around for something to say, this was way too weird. "You know Cassandra, right?" 

The mist seemed to laugh, and Richie tried to localise the sound without success. "You might say that too. After all, she needed to learn from someone. . ." 

"So you're saying what? You're older than she is? You an Immortal? How come I can't feel you?" 

"Come closer," the voice suggested. 

"No way. Who are you?" 

"You could find out for yourself. I'm just the other side of the wall." 

"So why can't you come here?" he asked but he was already walking towards the sound. He lightly swung over the wall, and looked around. 

"Over here." The sound was still the same distance away, and he took a couple of wary steps forwards. 

* * *

"But why?" 

Methos woke noiselessly, going from dead to alive without the eldritch gasp for air of younger Immortals. His diaphragm muscles clenched, held under tighter control than the need for air, and gently drew air into his starved lungs. He lay still, aware of voices arguing nearby. 

"Dead is dead. Why do all this" 

The voice was going on, but Methos had a bad feeling about this. He carefully tried to move his arms. They were underneath him, and bound. _Not good,_ he thought. When he very cautiously tried to open his eyes he discovered that he had been blindfolded. 

"It's orders, Dom," another, older voice said laconically. 

A third voice, "Sometimes. . .Dominic, it's to do with what we are doing here, you'll understand one day, that there are reasons. If you're lucky it won't be today. If there's nothing for twelve hours then we'll bury them." 

_Damn. Two of 'em know something, but the youngest doesn't. Can I use that?_ Even as his hands jerked at the ropes on his wrists his mind was crafting a possible escape. First the ropes. He carefully wriggled his hands, and wondered why he, apparently unlike every other Immortal he'd come across since, hadn't gone to Houdini to learn. _You'd think he'd've died richer, the amount of us who forked out to him._ His hands were moving under him, only tiny flexes in his shoulders to give him away. _I was out for thirty minutes, tops. Still dark. Amanda still down - maybe another five minutes? I wonder how her diaphragm control is?_ He suppressed a scowl as the knots held, and a nail bent back. _I'd've done it this way myself,_ he thought with grudging approval. 

To his left came a gasping groan. _Too soon!_ He scrabbled frantically at the knots. 

"Pierre!" the youngest voice yelped. 

"My word." Footsteps came close. There was a pause, a couple more steps, then a booted foot nudged at Methos' ribs. 

"Good evening my friends." Pierre leaned over them. "You _are_ fortunate, n'est-ce pas? Dead, alive." He pulled the trigger twice, the sound booming in the cave. "Dead again. Oh well. Nice talking to you." He turned to the other two men. "Help me here, Dom. Tim, go ring Mr Theron. Tell him we've got a special delivery." 

* * *

It was more than forty minutes before Duncan found the source of that light. It was hanging over a small sign that swayed slightly with the breeze. 

'Thirlmere Farm', was the legend on it. A small rutted track led up the hillside disappearing rapidly into darkness. He wracked his brains for the map. If this was Thirlmere farm, then that was Thirlmere itself in all probability. In which case they'd definitely taken a wrong turn somewhere. Somewhere in the dark, probably under cloud should be Helvellyn, and Scafell Pike off to the west. He nodded, sure of himself. Not easy country, but light going compared to say, the Highlands. 

He set off up the track, stumbling from time to time on the ruts that drifted from side to side in great ridges, slippery on the top from the rain, rock hard underneath after a long dry winter. A couple of times he had to stop to dislodge stones from his walking boots where they had jammed themselves between the grips. 

Finally he reached a gate. He'd really been expecting just a five bar, and was rather startled by what he found. High metal barriers, barbed wire across the top, an intercom and camera system on the gate itself. As he approached a light switched on. A sign announced that 'Trespassers would be persecuted'. 

Duncan grinned, _Typo or deliberate?_ he wondered. After a moment's hesitation he reached for the intercom. 

He hadn't touched it when that faint, indefinable prickle in the back of his senses told him that another of his kind was about. It vanished again after a second, but he'd changed his mind. He was tired, cold and wet, and any Immortal who took these many precautions to avoid contact with the outside world was probably best left alone. Particularly at midnight, with a total stranger at his front door. He turned to go. 

He'd gone some ten yards when the gate behind him clicked and swung open. He half turned, looking back, and saw two men. 

"Excuse me? Can we help?" The younger of the two spoke, clad in wellingtons and sweater over pyjamas. Next to him another man, this one in his forties, stood, holding a torch and what looked like a small bore shot gun. 

Duncan raised his hand to shield his eyes. "No, that's all right, thank you. I - a friend and I, were driving towards Penrith, and we seem to have gotten ourselves lost, and then the car broke down, I saw a light and wondered... " he made a deprecating gesture, "but it's okay. Richie - my friend, should be able to fix it. No need to--" Whatever he was about to say was interrupted. 

"Oh, you'll have to stay the night, I'm sure the owner would agree. Your friend too," the elder man said warmly, gesturing inwards with the hand that held the rifle. Duncan watched it wave warily, and the man flushed faintly. 

"Sorry. It's not even loaded. But, you know, gypsies, raves - it's sometimes useful for intimidating the wrong sort of folk. I'm Ben," he transferred the torch to a pocket, where it shone upwards giving his features a demonic cast, and stuck out his right hand. Duncan walked back and shook. He nodded over to his companion, and added, "And that's Tim. Do come in." 

"No, really," Duncan demurred, unable to locate the Immortal he was sure he had sensed earlier. 

Ben fixed him with a steady look. "Every square foot inside this fence is Holy Ground," he said bluntly. 

Tim nodded, "Please do. No one wants to harm you here" 

Duncan wavered, then, almost helplessly in the face of such hospitality, nodded and followed them in. 

* * *

He was bustled into a the house, where he was surrounded by well-meaning folk, determined to help. 

"Here, let me take that coat, it's soaked through." 

"Whereabouts did you leave your friend? Maybe Ewain could go fetch him?" 

"What kind of car? Will we need the truck?" 

"The rover should do it." 

"More likely to get the thing back up the hill with the tractor." 

He found himself sat in a stiff, chintzy room, wrapped in a scratchy blanket and sipping at a mug of sweet, bitterly strong tea. The Immortal, whoever they were, hadn't deigned to show up, but half a dozen adults and a couple of children as well were scurrying with enough energy for twice the numbers. 

A pile of clothes appeared next to him, and a bright eyed woman grinned at him, saying, "Everyone _out_! These should fit," she added, as she followed the last of them out of the room, "But if they don't just yell larger or smaller, and we'll sort you out." 

The door slammed, and he leaned back in the chair for a long moment, letting his eyes fall shut. He let out a sigh of relief, relaxing. Then he set the tea down on the floor and rummaged through the clothes. Soon he was warm and dry in a borrowed jeans and sweater that were only a little too big. The socks were thick and warm, and the tea was still hot enough to be drinkable. He sat down again and stretched his legs, staring at the fire as it crackled and danced behind the grate, feeling a vague twinge of guilt as he remembered Richie, still out in the cold. _Still, he's a grown man._ He yawned. _He'll get in the car if it's too cold._

He was half asleep, when the ringing in his head, which had never really gone away, swelled, and a sharp tap on the door heralded the Immortal he had sensed back at the gate. Immortals, he corrected himself as the door opened, and he got his first glimpse of them. 

They waited silently by the door, two men and a woman. The woman had long dark red hair, deeper and redder than auburn, her face was narrow, almost pinched looking, and distinctly unfriendly. By contrast the others looked positively welcoming despite the suspicion in their eyes. The youngest looking of them all stepped forwards. 

"I'm, Cedric. These are Vivian, Simon." Duncan nodded, pushing himself to his feet, and spread his hands. 

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I got lost, me an' a friend, heading North. I'm not looking for trouble." He leaned into his accent a little, hoping to convince them that he was safe. 

"Fair enough," Cedric dismissed his reassurances without even glancing at the other two. Vivian shot a glance at him, and an awkward silence was only broken when she smiled, as if she didn't do it often, and said, "Please, sit down. You must finish your tea." 

They arranged themselves in a loose circle around Duncan, and Simon leaned forward in his chair. "Can we help at all? You say your car is back down the road, headed southwards?" 

"Yes. Richie - my student," he fibbed slightly, for effect, "He's fixing it - or that's what he said." He laughed. The others joined in, apparently relieved by something. 

"Probably didn't want to get wet," Cedric nodded cheerfully. "Well, we may as well save you some grief, and a sleepless night, and bring them both, car and student, back." 

"Thank you," Duncan replied politely, peering at the remains of his tea. 

There was another uncomfortable silence. Finally Cedric said, "This is silly. Look MacLeod, Viv and Simon and I have been here for centuries. We're not used to visitors, not of our own kind, but you're very welcome. It's all Holy Ground. I imagine Ben told you that outside." Mac nodded, and Cedric went on. "We don't take heads. I haven't taken one in years. If need be, we offer sanctuary. Rather like Brother Paul used to." 

"You knew him?" 

"Knew _of_ him," he corrected. "We don't leave here. But it was good to hear you made his killer pay." 

"A pity, really. He had such a beautiful voice once, until the soul started showing through," Vivian remarked sadly. "Then it became quite painful to hear him, long before you matched the sound to the reality." She shook her head. "Mr MacLeod, I'll say good night, and see you in the morning." She kissed both the other men, and left. 

" _He_ killed Kalas?" Simon asked, eyes alight with curiosity. 

"That's what I said," Cedric replied with a hint of impatience around his eyes. 

Simon bit his lip, and stood to go also. "If there's anything I can--" 

"I'll call you. Now go to bed." Duncan was startled at how absolutely Cedric used the tone of command. Simon just smiled faintly, brushed a kiss on Cedric's forehead and nodded goodnight to Mac. 

Once the door had closed Cedric relaxed and smiled at the Highlander. "We'll go in a minute. There's no hurry. There's pretty much nothing that can happen to your young friend bar a touch of frostbite, and I'm morally certain he'll recover," he finished drolly. Duncan smiled briefly, finding all this camaraderie distinctly off-putting. 

"It's just farms around here. Farms and us." he amended. "The locals are used to us though. Well, we've been here longer than most of their families. Longer than some of their races, come to that," he added, frowning for a second, before going on. "It's a pity you left him by the lake, but he'll live, I'm sure. You should have both come up here, and we could have left worrying about the car until it was daylight again." 

"Why did you pick here?" Duncan asked, politely interested. Cedric got to his feet and took a couple of coats off the stand in the corner. "Here, put this on." He opened the door and headed down the corridor. "Because it's quiet, and peaceful, and spectacular views. Out of the way from everyone but the few, and anyone who does find us is easily spotted." He held the front door for Duncan. 

"And stopped." 

"If necessary, yes." He aimed the keys at the car and smiled happily when the lights flashed a couple of times and the car chirped. "I've set this damn thing off so many times without meaning to, I swear we'd never even notice if a burglar took it away except for remarking on the silence... In you go." 

* * *

"Richie?" Duncan opened the car doors and peered inside, as if expecting the young Immortal to suddenly manifest from under the back seat. "I don't understand it. When I left he was right here, tinkering with the engine." He waved at the still open bonnet, now glistening with the misty drizzle. "He'd never leave an engine like that. Richie!" 

He scooped up the leather coat, draped on the roof, almost as if it had been thrown there. He looked back towards the lake, wondering whether Richie would have gone off exploring. _In this weather? In unknown country?_ He grimaced ruefully, "More than likely," he acknowledged. 

"Hmm?" 

"I was just thinking, he's probably just wandered off. He'll turn up when he gets hungry." 

Cedric looked concerned. "This isn't a good place for exploring. The water is very close." In the quiet after Cedric's words they could hear the slap of water on the lake banks. 

Duncan shrugged, "He can't come to any permanent harm. Even if he falls in the worst that can happen is he drowns a couple of times. 

The other Immortal was shaking his head, and in the landrover's lights Duncan could see the frown on his face. "I just hope you're right." He glanced out over the dry-stone wall to Thirlmere. "I've lived here a very long time, and _I_ wouldn't go into the water round here." 

"Polluted?" 

"After a fashion. Strange things happen," he clarified. 

Duncan looked sceptical. "What kind of strange things?" The dark and the quiet were unnerving, he had to admit. The hills loomed all around, blocking out the stars, towering above them. 

Cedric stared out over the lake. "Magic." He looked at Duncan. "Don't mock," he said gently at the Scot's expression. "You of all people have seen enough to take it on trust that there are extraordinary things in this world." 

"Perhaps." He gave Cedric a sharp, puzzled look, but Cedric had turned and was closing the bonnet of the hire car. He opened the boot of the rover, taking out a length of cable. He quickly linked the two together and turned back towards the Highlander. 

"You steer, I'll tow. We'll come back for the boy in the morning," he said brightly. And not one more word about it could he get from him. 

* * *

"Richard." 

"Uhhh--" he tried to speak and found his mouth full of water. He gagged and desperately tried to breath. A pressure in the middle of his back bore down on his spine and liquid gushed from nose and mouth, burning out of him. Joining with tears of pain as the weight pressed again, and again. Finally it lifted and he drew a hoarse breath. He coughed, spitting the water out, getting rid of the stuff in his mouth - plant matter, sand and mud. 

"Richard." The voice buzzed through his head the way bees did through those of cartoon characters , whining and sawing through any ability to think or hear. Almost like the way an Immortal's presence buzzed... With that thought he snapped his eyes open, feeling for his sword. No sword. And he wasn't wearing the clothes he should have been. Some kind of tunic, and he was cold, and wet. He scrambled to his feet, stubbing his toes in the pitch darkness. 

"Calm down." 

Richie backed away form the sound. "Who are you. Give me my sword back. Why can't I see?" 

"Because there's no light - I have enough difficulties without suffocating myself as well. As for who I am, my name is Myrddin." 

"Mervin?" 

"No. Myrddin." The voice sounded expectant, as if the name should mean something. Richie shrugged, although somewhere at the back of his mind a bell was not so much ringing as clanging furiously. 

"Okay _Merthin_ , where's my sword, where am I and how do I get out of here?" he said instead, wrapping his arms around himself, and trying to stop his teeth chattering. 

"You know, it's more than 200 years since this place was warm. You'd probably feel a lot better if you came over here." 

_It's almost as if the man can see me,_ Richie thought, irritated. "Thanks, but no thanks. I like to be able to see who I'm cosying up with. If you let me have my sword--" he fingered the thin cloth wrapped around him, "and my clothes, I'll be right out of here." 

"After I went to all that trouble getting you here?" the man sounded positively indignant. "Have you any idea how difficult it was to get this set up right?" 

"Oh, so you bust the engine for me did you. How'd ya do it? A bit of sabotage? Paid the guy and got him to give us a lemon?" 

"Be reasonable, Richie. That wouldn't guarantee you'd take the wrong route. No, it was much simpler, and more direct." The voice had a smile in it. "But I seem to remember you not liking all this 'weird mumbo jumbo stuff' so I won't bore you with the details." 

"You're not going to get me that way. You're just trying to wind me up. There's no such thing as magic." 

"Oh. Well then, I expect you don't think there's such a thing as demons either." There was a pregnant pause. 

"What do you want?" Richie said aggressively, changing the subject. 

"For a start, I'd be grateful if you'd come over here where it's warm, and stop that ridiculous noise." 

Richie clenched his jaw, trying to stop his teeth rattling. "Tell me why I'm here," he asked more calmly once he'd gotten it under control. The moment he relaxed control to speak they started up again. 

"You may survive this week, but will you survive me taking your head to stop that blasted racket. _Come here and Sit Down_." 

Richie found himself obeying willy nilly, walking through the dark to the source of the voice, his knees giving way without his volition. The voice seemed to tap into some part of his brain that bypassed all his own will, and took away his ability to choose his own movements. 

"That's better." The voice eased back into more human tones. "Sorry to do that," it didn't sound very apologetic, Richie thought aggrievedly, but bit his lip. 

* * *

It was dark. When she lifted her head it hit sharply against something that knocked hollowly only inches above. The second thing she was aware of was that her wrists were bound tightly behind her - underneath her. She was on her back with her arms pinned awkwardly in the small of her back. She wriggled, trying to pull them down and around her to bring them in front of her, but there wasn't enough room. As her knees bent they hit something too. Tensing her stomach muscles she raised her upper body and hit her forehead on the obstruction above her. Cold, and oddly slippery, almost like graphite, or lead.... She tried rolling from side to side, to determine the width of the thing, but she was only confirming what she had already guessed. She was closed in tightly on all four sides. She let her head drop back, and swore blackly when it hit hard. 

_A coffin. Great._ She tilted herself slightly, and breathed carefully, keeping the panic down. Her hands burst into agony as her weight came off of them. "I can wait this out," she told herself. Once feeling was restored she cautiously felt under her. Metal. Definitely metal. She dug a nail at it, ran a finger over the place. She easily found the neat crescent indentation. 

"Lead. Christ, I'm _sealed_ in this," she spoke out loud, suddenly aware of her breathing becoming shallower. And shallower. _Almost out of air... Suffocated. Again. How many times does that make it?_ she wondered. 

_It could be worse. Drowning. I hate drowning. Or being shot. Though I've done that already this week. Stabbing. Been there, done that, replaced the t-shirt. Electrocuted - I never managed the chair, did I. Still time... hanged a couple of times. I wonder when someone..._

....gasp... will dig me... 

....gasp....up this time. Mac where... 

....gasp....are y' when a girl.... 

....gasp....needs.... 

* * *

Myrddin smiled at his unwilling guest. Richie couldn't see it, but he seemed to relax slightly. He wrapped a blanket around the boy's shoulders, and waited. 

"You didn't have to do that voice thing on me," he accused finally. 

Myrddin shrugged, then remembered that Richie couldn't see him. "Sorry." He sat next to him. The boy froze, then slowly relaxed into the warmth of the body beside him. 

"So," Richie tried to sound merely conversational, "you know Cassandra?" 

"Mmm. I saw she finally caught up with MacLeod the younger." 

"You saw? I thought you said you were trapped here?" 

"No, I said it was 200 years since it felt warm in here. I've been in here, oh around fifteen hundred years. Give or take. The timekeeping wasn't very reliable back then, and I lost count a long time ago." 

Richie considered that, thought about his possible responses, ranging from 'you're off your rocker' to 'don't you think you might be exaggerating a little', and opted for something a little more innocuous. "So, if you can't get out, how did I get in?" 

"Doesn't work like that. First it took several specific circumstances to organise it, second the entrapment is just tuned to me, and third I don't _want_ to get out. Not yet." 

"Nothing personal," Richie shifted a little away from the other man. "But could we skip the riddles and the mystical crap? Please?" 

Myrddin sighed. _The age of 'enlightenment' has a lot to answer for._

"Are you Immortal?" Richie asked abruptly. 

"Of course," Myrddin replied quickly. 

"Oh. Just, I never felt that buzzy thing. I thought I did, but it was just when I woke up." 

"You did feel it," Myrddin assured him. "You must have done. How else could I have lived in here for so long?" 

"It could just be some kind of trick." Richie said darkly. 

"You must have missed it as you came around," Myrddin repeated firmly, an echo-y ring to his voice. 

"I must have missed it as I came-- no I didn't. And don't _do_ that voice thing on me," Richie snarled, jerking away. 

In the dark he didn't see Myrddin's eyebrows lift "Sorry," he said perfunctorily. "Sleep," he added, and was rewarded a moment later by the steadying of the breathing of the younger Immortal. "I just need to talk to you properly, boy. Then you can go back and do what I need to have done. If you're lucky, you might even survive it." 

* * *

Duncan sighed with relief. Cedric had finally stopped hovering around him, and he was in a small, spartan guest room. He dug into his hold-all and found some boxers and a t-shirt, the closest he could rustle up to the pyjamas he suspected were de rigeur here. _And you do so like to be correctly dressed for the occasion,_ he mocked himself mildly. 

He carefully placed the katana along the side of the bed, and lay down, hand loosely over the hilt. _Not that I..._ he yawned hugely. _Not that I expect anything to happen. But I don't like it when Richie vanished on me. And I don't like strange Immortals being cryptic at me. I shouldn't have let him persuade me to leave._

He rolled over uncomfortably, and switched the bed side lamp out. He pulled up the sheet and blankets, and then for good measure, the bedspread too. It was bitterly cold. 

He closed his eyes to sleep and was greeted by the vision of Richie's body, headless once more, floating in the dark waters of the Lakes, as he slept peacefully, maybe even in the house of his killers. "Don't be ridiculous MacLeod. You're a guest under their roof. They'd never do such a thing." He was startled by his own voice echoing in the 3 am darkness. 

"He's fine," he said more softly, trying to believe it. 

He slept, and saw the severed neck at his feet again and again, trapped into an unending nightmare fading out into red and fear, and then beginning again. 

"Mac... " the voice begged him over and over, "You don't understand... You've got to help me!" Unending streets. Labyrinthine buildings, and only the drifting voice, and the disjointed corpse. 

* * *

Cedric was woken by a soft tapping at his door. 

"Sir? Sir?" A soft male voice broke into the quiet of his room. 

"Come in, Mark." He was half dressed as he spoke, and finished pulling on sweater, socks and shoes as the young mortal entered. 

"It's that delivery from France." Cedric looked blank for a moment, then as the boy went on his face cleared with the returning memory. "The one Dominic phoned about?" 

"Yes, yes. Good. I'll be right down." 

Mark turned to leave but Cedric stopped him. "Our guest - Mr MacLeod. I think he'll want a nice _long_ lie in in the morning. And a proper breakfast. Let him take his time." 

Mark nodded, understanding on his open face. "I'll see he doesn't go anywhere he shouldn't." 

Cedric rolled his shoulders wearily, then straightened. _Why me?_ he thought briefly, then chided himself. A broken night's sleep was nothing. It was him because he was the only one - the _only_ one, who knew the truth. Besides, one day _*Soon*_ he thought longingly, _Soon, it'll be time, and I'll lose more than a little sleep then._

He combed his hair into a neat pony tail, and lost himself in the mirror. . . 

* * *

[FLASHBACK] 

It was late in the evening. The battle was long over, but no one seemed to care who had won. The Saxons were driven back for today, but it didn't matter. A pall hung over the field, not the physical one of fire and burnt bones, not yet, that was for tomorrow, but nonetheless tangible. Even the cries of the wounded were muted, or perhaps they just seemed that way when every fraction of his hearing, his sight, his thoughts and prayers were focused on that tent. 

The king had been carried from the death plain by Bedfyr. Gently cradled in the man's arms. Cedric had tried to get close, but he had merely been one among many, and Felix had prevented him from pushing his way through. 

"It's been so long. Why don't they send word?" He was restitching a leather panel of his armour that had come loose. The wound the blade had made was long gone, along with the red-blond Viking who had caused it. 

"They're doing all they can, but Cedric, he's only human. And he's old now." 

"He should never have taken the field. Certainly not with that tricksy Bedfyr at his shoulder." 

"He's all right." 

Cedric shook his head, but let it go. He could see movement on the hilltop. "Oh Jesus preserve us. No." 

"Mithras' blood." The standard was being removed, another going up in its stead. The pennon hung limply in the close June evening, the light too bad to make out the markings. 

"He's dead. . . " Who said it first? No one knew, the words were there, whispered across the field, till the sound was like the sea. A wail from someone - a man, unable to believe that the leader he would have followed beyond the gates of hell was dead. Not possible, not _him_ , not dead. Why this morning he was asking me about my bad knee, my family, the burnt breakfast. . . He can't be. . . 

Cedric stood, suddenly filled with purpose. 

"Where are you going?" Felix asked him. 

"I have to see the body. Those weren't life threatening wounds. I'm sure of it. _He_ did this. I'll bet that's his banner up there on the king's tent. He's been planning it all along. Wait till the war's over, and kill him, and take the kingdom. Oh, a pretty prize. But he needn't think he's going to get away with it." 

"Cedric, when was the last time you saw a mortal survive a blow to the chest? Cedric. . ." Felix called after him, but his friend ignored him. 

He couldn't get to the tent. It was guarded. They told him it was following the traditions of three days of respect, and then he would be buried on a great ship. 

_Yeah, I'm sure,_ he thought scornfully. _I know what they don't want me to see. A slit throat, or maybe the smell of poison._ He wandered further along the plateau of the hilltop, staring tearlessly, angrily out at the land below him. _All for that good for nothing bastard. Well, we'll see. _I'm_ not taken in._

Suddenly a figure caught his eyes. It looked like Bedfyr, riding away on that showy horse of his. Cedric scrambled down the hill, found a pony wandering loose since his owner died, and vaulted onto its back. He trailed a good way behind the man - mostly because he couldn't catch him. The thoroughbred the traitor rode was far faster than the little mountain pony he had to endure. 

Finally the other stopped by the waterside, where he could go no further. Another man was there, and there seemed to be an argument developing. Cedric crept closer and closer - it wasn't for some years that he realised that he should have been sensed by the two Immortals. He'd thought for a moment he had been, when both men glanced around them, but Bedfyr shrugged, even as the second man seemed to stare right into Cedric's eyes. He could hear them. 

"How did it happen?" Bedfyr asked angrily. "I thought this was supposed to protect him." 

"You were supposed to protect him too, _Death_ , and look what happened." 

Cedric nodded to himself, his worst suspicions confirmed. He was so busy congratulating himself on his acumen he missed the next few words, coming in again a moment later. 

"Will you give it to me?" Cedric finally recognised the other man - Myrddin, the King's advisor. Feared Myrddin, the man with weird eyes, pale and green, and always far away, then suddenly telling you thoughts you never wanted anyone to know about, seeing into the worst places of a man's soul, and using his own fears against him. Witchcraft, some called it, but the new Christians were an intolerant crew, and most real Britons still respected the older ways, even if they paid lip service to the new. He shivered, and wondered if that was why the other Immortal hadn't noticed him. . . 

"Let me understand this correctly. You believe that the game needs to be driven forwards, and _this_ is how you do it?" Bedfyr was almost shouting, sword brandished menacingly in one hand. Cedric squinted harder. Then he got it. Bedfyr was wearing his _own_ sword in his scabbard, bound by black ties until the funeral. The other sword was the King's. Caliburn. The sword given to him, in circumstances which varied according to who told the tale, but were always magical, and connected with the royal kingship. _What the _hell_ is _he_ doing with it?_ he thought, enraged. 

"It's important. No one will learn, move on without the goad of conflict, pressure to do better, be better than the other tribe. We have to have that, Methos. How else will we reach the future?" 

"The way we've managed so far seemed pretty effective," Bedfyr said dryly, "just stacking up the days. I've managed to collect some three thousand years worth of them that way. Come on _Myrddin_ ," the word seemed to have a kind of dare laden in it. There was a long pause. 

"Oh, very well. _Bedfyr_." 

"Thank you. As I was saying. What are you really playing at?" 

"You know I'm not going to tell you." 

"Oh no?" Idly Bedfyr began twirling the sword, flipping it from one to the other, the blade glittering with more than just the last of the light. "You know what _he_ asked me to do with this?" 

"No?" Myrddin was surprised at the change of topic, and sounded cautious. "I thought you wanted to give it back." 

"After a fashion, dear boy." There was a real edge on that, and the sword moved again, all eyes watching it. 

"You wouldn't _dare_!" Myrddin's voice held horror. "It'll all fall apart!" 

"Maybe that's the idea? He was _tired_ of it, Fyanon. You'd driven him, and his father, and his grandfather, and who knows how many others, until they lost everything. Both his sons, his wife, most his friends. . . you wouldn't know how that feels, would you?" The ancient immortal's voice was gentle, pitched so low that Cedric had to strain to hear it. "You never tried to involve yourself, did you. He's called a halt to it. There will be no more war. Not here." 

"You don't understand, the chaos must be faced, driven back, not ignored." 

"No. It stops here. I'm tired, and so is the land. You haven't seen it, have you? The only well fed things in this island are the carrion eaters. And I include the warlords and the aristocrats in that, with the rats and crows and wolves." 

"If I told you what you want to know? Then would you give it to me?" 

Bedfyr seemed to consider this. "Probably. But I still wouldn't let it go on." 

There was a long silence. "Very well then. I give you some of it, and you give me the sword." 

"Give me the information first, and we'll see if it's worth the price." 

"I thought this was what you wanted all along." 

Bedfyr looked at him seriously. "There are more important things. They don't live long enough that we should take what they _do_ have away from them." 

"You surprise me, such words, from Death himself." He clutched dramatically at his chest, Bedfyr just stood there, watching him. "Oh, very well." 

They abruptly changed languages. Cedric knew enough Greek to buy himself a drink, and to know the occasional word, but this was a strange form. The kind he thought the grammaticus taught the Praetor's sons in school. 

"Xenoi" he knew that, foreigner. And there was something about beginning or start - something like that. "Thanatos." That was easy. Bedfyr's head was shaking slowly, and he said something short and contemptuous sounding. Myrddin's hand snatched at his wrist, and suddenly the sword was in the way. Myrddin flinched back violently, more so than the move had warranted - it had been a threat only. 

"Interesting." Cedric's ears pricked up. They'd finally reverted to a language he knew. Bedfyr went on, "You fear the sword. I wonder why." 

"Of course I don't." 

"I think you do. You know, I don't think that was enough." 

"I told what I could!" 

"Yes, but really, it wasn't much more than a conflation of creation myths. I'd figured most of it out already. And I have no guarantee that your information is any more reliable than anyone else's." he hefted the sword thoughtfully. 

"No. You _promised_!" 

"Oh, no," came the soft reply. "I was very careful _not_ to promise. You don't like this lake do you?" He didn't wait for a reply. "Good." He swung the sword back, and for a moment Cedric thought that he was going to take the magician's head, but instead he flipped his arm forward, with startling power the sword flew from his hand and spun out over the water. Improbably far out it sank, tracelessly, accompanied by the howl of anguish from Myrddin. 

"No! NO! Do you _know_ what you've done?" 

"Yes." 

"Then we are opposite sides. And you are walking into darkness." 

"Am I? Or are you so blinded by your desire for knowledge and control that you cannot bear anyone to walk a different path, cannot see that your own is less than pure?" 

* * *

Cedric shook himself back to the present. Time enough for that later. He sighed. Even though he'd done what he could _Prevented that traitor from getting the land,_ he thought with satisfaction, _And got the sword back. Desecration, to treat a weapon like that._ he'd never managed to get things back to the way they were. In the end, after he'd joined forces with Vivian, they'd retreated to Thirlmere, and waited for the future to happen. 

Giving it a little help here and there. 

He smiled and wandered downstairs. 

* * *

Duncan was woken by the sound of a door slamming. He sat up, holding his head for a moment. He turned his wrist towards the thin strip of light from under the bedroom door and groaned. Just two hours of sleep, and it felt more like a century spent on rocks. There was a murmur of voices just below his window, and the sound of an engine being turned over. For a moment he thought he felt the brush of an Immortal and came fully awake before he reminded himself of where he was. Quietly he slid out of bed and parted the curtains to look down. Cedric was out there, yawning occasionally as he spoke to three others. Then he spotted the dark shapes on the ground, distinctive and terrible. A pair of coffins. He gently pushed at the catch and lifted the sash. 

"...the barn, I suppose. I can't have people walking in to find them before breakfast." 

"Especially the children," a dark headed man pointed out. The rest nodded, almost visibly shivering. 

"I realise this is awkward, but can I ask you to get them into the lean to? I'm sure they won't mind any disrespect," he gestured to the coffins with a wan smile. He received a couple of greenish smiles in return. 

Footsteps crunched on the gravel and the burdens were carefully shouldered between half a dozen men, who walked slowly around the corner out of sight with the first coffin. Duncan pulled back a little as Cedric's head turned upwards to his window. 

(Something _really_ isn't right here,) he thought, as the men returned and took the second coffin somewhere, not inside the house as he had expected. _What are they hiding?_

* * *

He pushed at the half hidden door at the back of the barn, and walked into the other half. The side lean-to would hold the invaders, it was designed for recalcitrant guests, and while it had had no occupants in over forty years, he was confident it was still secure. Lost in his thoughts he almost forgot, but his feet remembered for him, and carried him forward on automatic to the very edge of the table. 

He crossed himself, feeling lighter and safer, even without opening the case. He always felt better when he came in here. It reminded him of all he had achieved, despite everything. No matter who interfered, no matter what happened in the rest of the world to damage his design - Pen Dragon's design really, he thought fondly, it all went on, making a shape for itself in the world. 

He casually stroked a hand over the gleaming metal, polished by the touch of his hand over centuries, then lifted the lid, letting his eyes close until he could see it all at once, childlike. He opened them again and looked. He drew a deep, calming breath, not even aware of the unexpected event of the last ten hours. All was well. It was still there, where he had laid it, found at such cost. He remembered the number of times he had drowned, the sacrifices to the gods he had had to make, the price Vivian and the waters had demanded for retrieving it. All worth while. 

Beautiful. 

He ran his hand down the glass that sealed it away from the corrosive air, fingers slipping into the worn track they had worn in the thick glass. He frowned at that same glass for a moment. It too was old, almost as old as the casing, and distorted the true shape of the sword inside. 

Unexpectedly, but carrying the moment with him, he touched his finger tips to the barely visible dips in the metalwork. He didn't do this often, but it was needed, tonight, for some reason that he had no understanding of. There was a barely audible click, sensed more than heard, the glass tilted. 

Another moment to collect himself. _Calm, calm..._ he told himself. _I know I'm not the true king, but I wish I could..._ His hand reached out of his own accord, reaching to the sword resting on soft oil-soaked lambswool. 

Maybe it was guilt, imagination. But Cedric's eyes seemed to see blue sparks edging off the blade. Spitting fire at its thief. _No, no, I was _meant_ to do this. It is all _meant_._ he reminded himself firmly, and sighed happily. _It's _right_ that I not touch it,_ he thought determinedly. He even believed it. 

Briskly he lowered the glass, dropped the lid and walked away. 

Outside again, he called the men over. "Yes, here, that's right." He smiled benignly at Martin, Jason and Rob as they dragged the first coffin into the lean-to attached to the barn, then headed back to move the second. The smile widened as they passed him, staggering under the weight, and he felt the hum of an awakening Immortal from it. There were a couple of moments quiet, then a feeble thumping that quickly petered out, barely even audible over the crunch of boots on gravel. 

No one paid any attention. The two boxes were leaned against a wall, one in front of the other, and the door chained shut. Cedric walked away, thinking of his bed, and gave an admiring thought to the craftsmanship that built an utterly airtight mobile tomb, as the faint feel of a live Immortal faded and vanished with more than distance. 

* * *

Cold. It was so cold. He huddled smaller into himself, crouched beside the low wall, wrapped his arms tightly about his knees, moaning softly. 

Gradually it grew lighter. Long slow tremors of cold ran through him. Dew settled on his already wet clothing, and thawed through the thin layer of ice. A watery sun crept above the hills, bringing an ice blue sky with it. The lake, long and dark, rippled gently, wavelets driven before the steady breeze. Once, a wave splashed particularly loudly, perhaps a fish had jumped, and he cried out in fear, wide terrified eyes lifting to stare at the water. 

There was nothing there. His eyes dropped again, ashamed. As they fell they saw the sword. His sword? 

He reached for it, then paused, hand hovering over the hilt warily. Maybe it wasn't his. Seemingly of its own will his hand folded around the hilt, and lifted the sword easily. He could feel frozen muscles stretch and pull across back and shoulders. It settles into his grip, the hilt almost warm in his clasp. 

Carefully he stretched out his legs, feeling the muscles spasm and cramp. For a moment he pulls them back up to his chest as the wind cuts through his wet shirt, the warmth that had been trapped between his chest and his thighs instantly gone. Painfully he leaned forward and rubbed at his leg. It took a moment to realise that some of the pain was being caused by something in his hand. Slowly he lifted the offending limb and stared at it. There was a chain wound around it, and dangling from it some kind of charm. He brought it closer, peering through the grey dawn light to try to make out the details. Some sort of lizard? He shrugged and clumsily untangled it from his wrist and hands and slipped it into a pocket. 

* * *

"Richie?" Duncan relaxed slightly, feeling the sense of an Immortal nearby. _He must be near... Unless it's not him._ He stifled the thought and tried again. "RICH-IE!" 

He stood in the middle of the road and waited for the shout to stop echoing off the valley walls. 

"Why doesn't he answer?" he muttered irritably to himself. 

"Maybe he can't." Cedric suggested helpfully. 

Duncan frowned, visibly dismissed the thought and drew breath to shout again. _Surely he'd reply if he could?_ He paused, and stared thoughtfully at the water just the other side of the low wall. "Maybe he fell in. He might be unconscious." 

"This time of year, it's probably hypothermia." Cedric nodded in agreement. 

Duncan nodded, and vaulted the wall to begin scanning the side of the lake. He was brought up short as he turned, seeing the huddled form of his former student jammed as close as possible against the wall. In a moment he was crouched by Richie. 

"Rich?" he took hold of a shoulder and shook it gently. There was a faint movement, but he didn't uncurl. The shivers he could feel under his hand running through the icy body were visible. "Rich, it's me, it's Mac. What happened?" 

Richie's eyes opened and looked unrecognisingly at MacLeod, at his out-stretched hand, and flinched away, closer into the jagged edges of the stone wall. 

Duncan glanced up over the wall to Cedric. "Can I have the blanket, thanks? And stay back. I'm not sure how he'll react to a stranger." _Especially when he seems to be terrified of me,_ he added mentally, waiting patiently. 

Wordlessly Cedric stepped back to the car and fished out the warm woollen blanket. He handed it over and retreated again, a frown across his face, his lips thinning as he looked out at the lake. _I was afraid of this. We've been so careful, for so long, but Vivian was right. She always is._

"Hey, Rich, you look cold. Here." Slowly, carefully, Duncan eased his friend away from the wall, wrapping the blanket around him. 

"Mac?" Richie's voice was thick and hoarse. 

"Come on, tough guy. Up you come." He pulled Richie to his feet and bundled him over the wall unceremoniously, catching him and letting his regain his balance as he threatened to stumble and fall. 

Richie looked at the hand on his arm, and said softly, "Gonna find death." 

"Say again?" Duncan glanced sharply at him, he'd not thought that Immortals could get delirious, but..."it's been a long night, hasn't it?" he said gently, and hopped over the wall to join him. 

"Death. He's going to come. _He_ said so. Mustn't listen... you mustn't... more trouble..." his voice tailed off into a yawn. "Tired." 

"I know. Come on and we'll get you warm and fed. You'll feel better then." 

"My sword," he said sharply. "Give it to me." 

"Sure, just let us get you--" 

" _Now_!" He straightened away from MacLeod and turned icy blue eyes on him. "Give it me!" he demanded, hand held out imperiously. 

"Rich, I don't know where," Mac began palliatively. 

"It's where I was waiting. Get it." 

Duncan looked quizzically at his erstwhile student, but Richie was barely keeping his feet, and certainly wasn't up to an argument. He went back and quickly found the sword. 

"Give it here." Richie took it and scrutinised it minutely, turning it carefully. He half smiled at it, apparently pleased with what he saw. 

"Get in the car," Duncan ordered firmly. Richie looked at him and smiled faintly. 

"Sure." He lowered the sword and walked towards the car, then stopped. Duncan rolled his eyes, thinking _What _now_?_

"He's a friend, he helped me find you." he told Richie who was staring warily at the other man. Richie thought for a moment, and smiled sweetly at both men. "That would explain it," he remarked apropos of nothing, and almost fell into the car, asleep before he hit the seat. 

* * *

Duncan hovered by the doorway, trying not to be in the way, and not succeeding terribly well. Immortal or not, Richie wasn't waking up. It had been some five hours since they'd brought him back, and after all the bustle of finding the kid clothes and hot water bottles it seemed rather anti climactic to just stand and watch while he slept. 

"Mr MacLeod?" Vivian was behind him, waiting in the doorway. He moved out of the way hastily, and she shook her head, "No, I didn't need to come in, I just wanted to see how your young friend was." 

They both glanced over at the reddy curls that were the only thing visible above the heaped up blankets. Duncan shrugged. "Asleep." He said laconically. 

Vivian frowned faintly, and despite her earlier remark, moved further into the room. "It's probably hypothermia." She sounded doubtful, and Duncan looked sharply at her, wondering what she meant. He was in time to catch the glimmer of wary malice on her face that vanished into a doubtful frown again. 

"His core temperature should rise to normal in a couple of hours," the highlander remarked neutrally. 

She took another couple of steps towards the bed, almost as if she couldn't stop herself. Then she paused and turned for a moment. 

"If you want a hot drink, or some lunch, I think Sarah's got something on the table downstairs." 

"I don't want to leave--" he demurred, and she smiled abruptly at him, her face transforming in a moment from a too narrow patchwork of bones and eyes to something very like beauty. The eyes stayed distant though, and Duncan wondered how safe she was to leave with another, currently helpless, Immortal. 

As if reading his thoughts she said dryly, "We are on holy ground still..." and Duncan found himself blushing, patches of red staining his cheeks, and he smiled, trying to recover, slipping back into his brogue. 

"Nah, I dinnae mean tha'. I'll just be going downstairs then - would you like anything?" he added politely, and headed for the door when she shook her head. 

Once his footsteps had reached the ground floor, echoing on the flagstones of the hallway, Vivian closed the door and drew the curtains. 

"Richard?" she said, sitting on the bed, "Richard. Wake. Up." Her voice resounded in the room, but not enough, there was no double sound that commanded obedience. Richie did not move. She turned down the covers till his face was exposed, and watched for a moment, as he mumbled and tugged at the clothes. 

"Richard?" she tried again, more quietly. Still no response. "Richard, hear my voice," she said softly. "It's very important you answer me, it's all right," she soothed, as he shifted and moaned restlessly, "You don't have to wake up. In fact, you need to sleep deep, dream, Richard. What happened? Did you fall in?" 

Richie turned and curled away from her insistent voice. "Richie? Richie, it's for your own good. I have to know, did you fall in the water? Come on, you can tell me, I just want to know." 

There was no answer, which, she feared, was an answer in itself. If he had stayed out of the water he would have said so. That he made no reply made it more likely that he had fallen in. 

"Richie. Can you hear me?" There was a slight nod of the head, and her heart sank. _Damn. I'm going to have to get him off the estate and deal with him._ she thought irritably, seeing her house of cards teetering perilously. _All because of a pair of Immortals who can't read a map. How did this happen? I had it all organised,_ she glared at the comatose Immortal. 

"Richie? Can you tell me what you saw when you fell in the lake?" Silence. "Did you see anyone? Answer me damn you!" her last words were more hissed than spoken, and for the first time Richie stirred. Bright blue eyes opened a slit, and met her own. 

"Hello Nimue," he said in mild tones, and closed them again. 

She froze, and would have done something rash, except she could hear footsteps nearing the door, she just had time to wrench the curtains open again, and was standing by the window, apparently staring out at the farmyard when Duncan elbowed the door open and carried a tray in. 

"Any sign of life?" he asked casually. 

Vivian shivered visibly, and said, "No," as if dragging her mind back from a long way off, shook her head in a negative, and turned back to the window. Duncan watched the thin back, mostly hidden by the long waves of red hair, and his lips thinned. For the umpteenth time he thought to himself that something definitely wasn't right. He put the tray down by the bed, and smiled as Richie rolled over towards the smell of the food. 

"Sure fire way to wake the kid," he remarked. Vivian's head snapped around, Duncan didn't catch it though, nor did he initially spot the sardonic glance Richie's now open eyes directed at her. 

"Hey, Mac," he croaked, and Duncan looked up from clearing a space for himself to eat and smiled at his friend. 

"Hey Rich," he said back. "Y'okay?" 

"Cold." 

Duncan nodded. "You'll warn up. So, kid, what happened to you?" he began to split the contents of his plate onto a second one that he had brought up, just in case. Thus he missed Richie's second, quick glance at Vivian. She merely raised her eyebrows, as if to say, 'Get out of that one.' 

Richie took in a deep breath, and grinned at the room at large. "That stuff smells good. Could we wait till I've eaten?" 

"You mean you're actually considering not talking with your mouth full?" Duncan said with mock incredulity. 

Richie scowled, "Very funny Mac. Here, give me some of that." He grabbed a plate and started in on the food with his fingers until Mac pointedly handed him a fork. Richie grinned at his mentor, but obligingly switched. 

"I was um, trying to fix the thing, I'm starting to think we were sabotaged or something, dammed if I could find a thing wrong with it. I dunno. Anyway, I, um," he glanced at Vivian warily. He was quite sure he didn't want to tell her everything, something in the back of his head was screaming, danger, and these days he _really_ paid attention to that kind of instinct. Richie hastily edited the version he had planned to tell, and looked up at Duncan over a forkful of sausage. 

"I got bored waiting and hopped over the wall to have a closer look at the lake." He shrugged, a self-deprecating look on his face. "I guess I hopped a little too far, didn't see where I was going, and fell in. Once I got myself out again, I think I passed out from the cold." 

"You probably died from the cold," Duncan told him sternly. 

Richie shrugged again, and took the last mouthful of the food on his plate. He'd emptied it in minutes and was now staring wistfully at the remainder of the bacon, eggs and sausages on Duncan's plate. The Highlander laughed helplessly, and swapped plates. 

"Thanks," and Richie finished off Duncan's lunch. 

It was another two hours before Richie felt warm enough to try getting out of bed, and Vivian, to his intense irritation, never left once. When Duncan had taken the plates down, he had rather sharply suggested she could find better things to do with her time, and she smiled coldly back. 

"No doubt I could, Richard. But I would so much rather not let you interfere with what I have arranged." 

Richie let his lashes fall over his eyes. "And why would that be?" 

The smile never wavered, and she said coolly, "You know why. I've broken every window you ever tried for this, and I'm not skipping this one. Your young friend doesn't need to know a thing, and once you're all off my land, then you'll have to start all over again, won't you." Her voice sounded satisfied, and Richie tilted his head, curious. 

"This time's different, Nimue. This one's different. And _his_ friend, MacLeod, has lots of threads bringing him here. You don't run everything, believe me." 

"I can try," she said viciously. They both jumped as MacLeod returned. 

Richie yawned ostentatiously, and slid back down under the covers. "Don't let me keep you people," he said tiredly. "I'm going to take another nap." 

"Yes, you'll need to keep your strength up," Vivian agreed solicitously. Duncan threw her another sharp glance, but saw only sincere concern. 

He nodded, and said, "I'll go down, and see if I can't fix the car." Richie frowned at him, apparently in annoyance and Duncan paused for a moment, wondering what Richie wanted. They both caught Vivian's eyes on them, with an almost predatory look in them, and Richie ostentatiously shut his eyes. _I'll have to tell Mac the rest later,_ he thought hazily, and realised with some surprise that he truly did want to go back to sleep. 

Duncan watched for a couple of minutes as Richie's breathing evened out into the slow pattern of the sleeping, and followed Vivian out the room. 

* * *

For a while Duncan pottered around the car, muttering. Finally he stepped back and sighed, shaking his head. 

"It's not so much that I can't fix an engine, as I don't know which bit is the engine anymore." He glared at the odd arrangement of leads and pipes. "At least back in the twenties you could strip it down and put it back together again. Here, I can't even find the bloody screws to get started." 

A footstep sounded behind him, together with a mild chuckle. "These days they plug it into a computer and let the car tell the mechanics what's gone wrong." 

"You're kidding." Duncan half turned to see the man behind him. 

"Nope. The newer cars," he gestured to the rental vehicle, "have automatic diagnostics set up inside 'em. You take it back to the garage and they'll check it over in half the time. Course, doesn't make the mechanics any happier," he added, peering under the bonnet, hands firmly behind his back. He glanced around to see if the tall guy had taken the bait. He was half smiling. 

"Which is because?" Duncan asked obligingly. 

"They charge by the hour, see. Half the time for repairs, half the cash..." 

Duncan chuckled and nodded. "Doesn't get me any closer to Scotland." 

"Is that where you're headed?" Duncan just nodded again. 

"Ah well, you see, it's pretty enough up there," his hands twitched and he leaned further into the car, running his fingers over the grimy parts that had defeated Duncan. "I mean, my sister married a highland man," he went on cheerily, "They're still up there, twenty years it is, working some croft, she doing the spinning and weaving and running the craft centre see, and the brother in law is a lawyer down in Dumfries. But I've never really felt like leaving the hills, here's far enough, and I can take a clean run back to the Marches in an hour, maybe two, if the lads in blue don't start making tits of themselves." 

Duncan stated the obvious. "Welsh then?" 

"Aye, and the hiraeth is terrible somedays, y'know man. But you go where the work is," he gave a long suffering sigh, and caught the look on Duncan's face. He laughed, prodding at a couple of wires. He frowned and pulled at something, and screwed a couple of the pipes that had been wobbling ferociously as he tugged them back down. 

"You're a Scot aren't you? The brother-in-law gets the self same look to his face when I start in on the subject. I'll leave you to it then man." He stepped back with a look of satisfaction and absently wiped his hands across the seat of an already grimy boiler suit. 

"No, I..." 

"Ah, don't feel bad about it. It's not like you're a bloody saes now, is it?" Dumbly Duncan shook his head. "Well, of course you're not. Wouldn't have been fixing this for a saes," he nodded at the car as he turned towards Duncan. "Job or no job, I've got standards you know." 

"It's fixed?" 

" _Should_ be, should be. Don't be surprised if it doesn't work. New fangled cars, all this computerised stuff. Turn her over, we'll see." 

Duncan patted his pockets, then realised he'd left the house without the keys. He said as much. 

"Dim prob man. Give us'n a yell later, and we'll see what she does." He slammed the bonnet back down. "Your friend's got a nice touch himself." He jerked his head towards the car. "Nearly had it. Still, being by the lake, I guess he distracted the boy," he rambled. 

"He?" 

"Don't mind me." He caught himself hastily. "Monoglot Welsh I was, right till they put the village under the water, not a word of the English till I got to secondary school. Get twisted on the words even now, I do." He backed away, still talking but moving rapidly till it was quite clear he considered the conversation over. 

Duncan frowned. What with Cedric, and Vivian and now this man - he realised he'd not even gotten his name - all going on about _something_ in the lake, he was starting to wonder if it was just him or all of them that were seriously off kilter. He glanced at the car. _Might as well test it, see if Taffy fixed it up for us._

He stepped inside and was about to head up the stairs to grab his coat when he heard his name. 

" -- MacLeod! What are we going to ..." the male voice dropped enough that it was muffled by the distance. He hesitated for a moment, then crept quietly up to the half open door. It wasn't really in his nature to eavesdrop, but this was too interesting to pass up. 

"...anything at all!" Vivian's voice was quiet, but no less urgent for all that. 

There was a muffled chuckle, that stopped abruptly. "I'm so glad you find this funny, Simon," she grated. "Do you _know_ why you were the second man to join our group? Because the first one in your position was taken by that bastard in the water, and nearly killed us all. It took us a century, more, to regroup, to retrain our mortals... I'm not having that again." There was a short silence. 

Cedric's voice, more conciliatory than Simon or Vivian started. "Please, Simon, Vivian. This is not helping. We've got to think this through." 

"Oh come _on_!" Duncan could almost see the roll of disbelieving eyes as Simon stared at the other two Immortals. "More of your dumb prophecies, Viv? More sword worship, Ceddie? Man, I don't know where you dug him up from, but he's got a one man religion going on here, Viv, and you're encouraging him. Okay, so yeah, I buy into the rest of it, it doesn't seem unreasonable. But magic? Let's get real here." 

"You're young, so I'll overlook that." Vivian sounded as if she carried the weight of millennia on her shoulders. Duncan mentally hit himself. Chances were, she did. 

"What would you call your Immortality, then?" Cedric's more placatory voice said from a little further away. _Probably by the window._ Duncan surmised. 

"Good genes. Luck of the draw. Some kind of freaky mutant stuff. _I don't know_. But give me a break here. You're talking witches and spells and thousands of years." 

"The oldest of our kind is older than the one in the lake." 

"You're seriously telling there's an Immortal running round more than four thousand years old? Why? If I was him, I'd've taken over the world with the Egyptians, or Alexander or someone, and be living the high life." 

There was a pause, and Duncan could imagine the looks being exchanged, it was probably very similar to his own. _I mean, aside from the morality of it, he seems to think it's all a game._

"It's not a game, Simon." Duncan was startled to hear Vivian echo his thoughts a second later. "What we do here is _important_. If we don't stand against the Immortals that want that very thing, then what are we? We live on Holy Ground, it protects us, yes, but there are _other_ reasons. It's not just Immortals that can be dangerous. Mortals need guidance, care, we have to protect them from the consequences of apathy." 

"Yeah, yeah, I heard it before, for evil to triumph, it only needs that the good do nothing. I _know_. hell, I'm here aren't I? Sure, bad stuff happens. I'll even grant you guys were _right_ about all that stuff back at the turn of the century..." 

"Not even a hundred years, and they've come so _far_..." Vivian's voice had the sound of a proud parent almost, and Duncan frowned, confused. 

"It's what I always said. Conflict brings out the best in them. Eventually, only the best will survive, and then we can allow them to understand the reality of their world. How it forms and is formed by ours." Cedric said seriously. 

"All right already. I'm with the programme here, remember? So, what are we going to do next?" 

There was another pause. 

"MacLeod is on the side of angels." Cedric said. There was another pause. 

"You mean like, bring him in?" 

"With all the will in the world, Simon," Vivian responded with sweet venom, "You aren't the warrior he is." 

"So I'm out?" 

"No, no, absolutely not." 

"Oh, I get it, I leave in a body bag or not at all." 

"No!" Cedric sounded honestly shocked. But Duncan was interested to note there was no similar outburst from the woman. This was starting to sound weirder and weirder. Footsteps approached the door, and Duncan hastily pulled himself together and ran swiftly and silently up the stairs back into his room, looking for his keys as originally planned. He missed the last part of the conversation of the three Immortals... 

* * *

"No!" Cedric stared in honest shock at the youngest of the three of them. "No, I didn't mean that at all. You're our modern man. I can't plan like you and Vivian do. And neither of us can play with those computers the way you do." 

"Which is probably as well, imagine the phone bills if all _three_ of us were at it the whole time," Vivian said nastily, sotto voce. Cedric glared at her, and she simply shrugged, and waited till he backed down. 

"No, you're the key to the next step." 

"Only this time, get it _right_." Vivian added. "It's no good starting a war that's over in three months. I hate to be dramatic," she paused to let the two men get over their coughing fits and smiled dryly, "But this _is_ Armageddon we're planning. I'd prefer it if the rest of the world actually _noticed_ this time, instead of shrugging it off as a little local difficulty." 

"It's not my _fault_ ," Simon said defensively. "It just wouldn't gel right. But I know where I went wrong." 

"Did you see old Annan coming off the plane with his piece of paper. It brought back such memories..." Vivian smiled blissfully. 

"'Peace in our time...'" Simon parodied, and the three of them smirked at each other, disagreements temporarily forgotten. 

"Well then, Cedric, you try to recruit MacLeod, watch which version you give him, I gather he's quite the lily white boy. Simon, you get on with whatever you were up to." 

"And you?" 

"I'll be 'dealing' with our friend and the lake." 

* * *

Methos held his breath. Not that was much oxygen left to actually hold, but it seemed easier to store it than breath it. Stave off dying in this stupid box again and again. He'd managed to wedge his knees up between his thighs and the lid of the box. Gravity was against him, and his back hurt unbelievably, but at least he now had leverage. He could feel the his face flooding with colour, the strain making his veins bulge, his eyes squeeze tight shut in defence from being squeezed out altogether. He spared a thought for the time he'd found out that if you strained hard enough you really could force a man's eyes to pop out. Of course, that was a long time ago. _And I don't wear the cosmetics any more either,_ he reminded himself vaguely as he pushed. There was the faintest give, his muscles springing forward with the shock of movement and spasmed into an agonising cramp. Just as he was aware of the last of the oxygen, and the wherewithal to stay alive, vanishing, he saw a glimmer of light penetrate the two day darkness, piercingly bright. 

With it came air. Not much. Not enough initially to stop him from passing out, and reawakening, slumped in a twisted tangled at the foot of the coffin, but enough to keep him from dying for the, what, twentieth time? He'd lost count. 

He inhaled and let it out again, savouring the freedom to breath once more. Self-indulgence done, he began straining at the lid again. Now that part of it was loosened the rest seemed to come easier. In only a half hour or so he was free, pushing the lid away carefully, holding on to it lest it crash out and alert someone. It was too much to hope to leave without confrontation, but at the very least he could get his sword back first. He lowered the lid back onto the coffin, and leaned against it heavily, pushing the nails back into the heavy wood. _Good enough,_ he told himself, and turned to leave. Two things stopped him. The sense of an Immortal nearby - _very_ near, and the sight of his sword - and Amanda's resting against the rough wooden wall of the shack they were being stored in. 

"Amanda?" he hissed. There was a faint pounding from behind his coffin, and he leaned around it to take a look. Another was there, leaning against the wall, and presumably holding Ms Darieux. He grinned for a moment, thinking of sweet revenge for all the dumb stunts she had gotten him into. And then he remembered that sooner or later, MacLeod was _bound_ to find out, and regardless of having known Amanda for three hundred years, would take her side and blame him. Or worse, do nothing when Amanda took her revenge... 

He walked the first coffin away from the second, leaning it on the opposite wall, and used the tip of Amanda's sword to lever the top off. The pounding stopped for a moment, then redoubled, accompanied by outraged yells that became clearer and clearer as he pulled the nails out. 

"Shut up!" he hissed furiously. "It's me, Adam. If you keep yelling like that they'll come running and I won't stop them putting you back in there." 

"Adam?" Amanda said softly. 

"Yeah. Now give me a couple of minutes and some quiet, and I'll see what I can manage in the way of a rescue." 

* * *

Richie's eyes opened a slit, peering out from under his lashes to see if he was alone. _Yay. No witch woman, no Mac, no nuthin'._ He slid out of the bed and rummaged through the closet till he found some jeans and sweaters he recognised. He dressed hastily, and turned for the door. 

_Pile up the bed, make them think you're still there. That won't fool them, they're all Immortals. It might fool them, better than not even trying, and it might even be a mortal that comes along first. Okay, I'm piling, I'm piling. Sheesh, give me a break. When you deserve one. Now move it Richard._ Richie pulled a face, but found shoes, a coat and slipped out of his room and down the stairs. 

_How am I supposed to know where I'm going?_ he thought irritatedly as his feet took him confidently down the stairs through a dark passage, into a large warm room that had to be the kitchen. 

_I'll worry about that._

_Like, that's a real comfort man. I'm just _brimming_ with enthusiasm here._ Richie paused at the doorway to the kitchen and peeked around the jamb. There was no one there, by some good chance. 

_Good chance nothing. I've been organising this for centuries. A little detail like shifting extras out the way isn't a problem._

"Man would you _stop_ that," Richie winced, hissing at the voice in his head. "I've been here already, you know, and while I appreciate..." 

_Out the door and left._

"Thanks, I appreciate that you're not some kind of demon, at least I hope not, and it doesn't hurt the way Ahri--" 

_Don't name him!_

"Calm down, Mac killed him." 

_No, he returned him to the place he came from._

"The nether planes, or Hell or something?" 

" _Or something,_ the voice replied dryly. 

"Anyway, like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted..." 

_Wait a moment. Look around the corner of this building. There should be a barn backing on to the house._

Richie leaned against the soft-stone wall, and cautiously did as he was told. "Clear." He whispered. 

_I can _see_ that._

Richie lifted his hands in annoyance, "Hey, who's helping who here? And did you just say Ahri--whosis isn't dead? Does that mean he can come back again?" 

_If you're silly enough to call his name, yes. He'll come all right, especially one marked by him as his own._

"Jeeze, great, now I get to worry about that all over again." 

_It'll be another millennium before he can work up the energy to try it though, so there's no immediate problem._

" _Immediate_? Hell, you could've told me that first off. I won't even be here in a thousand years. 

_No?_ the voice paused, then resumed. _You need to get inside. The main door is over here."_

"'S not locked." Richie pushed it wide, and crept inside the large barn, musty with old straw and banded with light through cracks in the walls. He looked around, for once there was no commentary from 'his friend' as he noted the door at the far end, the table just in front of it, and the chairs set out in curved lines before it, for all the world like a church. 

"Is this some kind of chapel?" 

_Some of the Immortals here would like to think so. There should be a box on the table. Open it._

Richie wove his way through the seats to the plain wooden table. It was old, and slightly rickety looking, and marred with gouges. He ran his finger over one, and was surprised when a splinter ran into his finger. 

"Ow!" he yelped, and sucked at it. With the other hand he touched the metal box on the roughened surface. There was an indentation on one side. He leaned in to look more closely at it, then felt the other side, forgetful for the moment of the sliver of wood embedded in his index finger. He found a second indentation, and grinned. 

"You know, if all the places had been this easy, I'd've been rich before I ever _tried_ robbing Mac," he commented as he arranged his fingers. 

_I knew there was a reason I needed you._ The voice was dry enough to choke on. 

"Thanks. Love you too." Richie jibed back absently, pushing both sides simultaneously. There was a soft click, and the lid sprang open. He paused for a moment, reaching for the blade inside and caught up short by the unexpected intervention of a glass cover. It was the work of a moment to find the catch and lever it open. 

"Okay, now what?" 

_What do you think, Richard? I hardly went to all this trouble to just to look at the thing then walk away. Pick it up._

"But... It's _old_ ," Richie peered closely at it. He'd not seen anything like it. His own sword was nowhere near as old, perhaps Methos' sword was the nearest match for it, but where Methos' short blade was nicked and dull, worn with time and battles, this one was gleaming, the edges shining wickedly in the light that seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls. The nicks and bruises looked fresh, every inch of it polished and honed within an inch of its life. Carefully he reached in and lifted it by the hilt. It had an odd balance, and seemed heavier than he had expected. 

_I made that out of starstone, and tempered it long before the barbarians of the west 'discovered' the art. Short in the blade, but that was the style of the times. I wanted to make a longer blade, but he insisted, and I had to do as he asked. He was, after all, in charge. In theory._ Myrddin was almost chatty as Richie hefted the weapon twisting it, then making a few passes, stepping out into the area between the table and the chairs to have a go at it. 

"Can I keep it?" Richie wondered out loud, certain of the answer. 

_No. You know what I need you to do._

"All right. It just, I don't know. It just seems a shame, you know? But--" 

_Sshhh!"_ Richie froze, then dived to the back of the barn as he heard the scrape of feet in the gravel by the main entrance. It was no good, he could feel more Immortals. 

"Now would be a really good time for some help," he whispered urgently. 

_Go through the door._

"But those guys are there." 

_Do as I say!_

* * *

Amanda hurried back to the lean-to. The yard had been deserted, but even so it provided plenty of breathing space for a sneak thief in need of cover. Methos was waiting where she'd left him. 

"Well?" he asked laconically. 

In answer she held up a couple of wires. 

"A woman of many talents, and some of them even useful." 

"Oh, _all_ of them are useful. But you just won't get to find that out." 

"Frankly I'm relieved." 

"More like jealous." 

Methos just tilted an eyebrow. "Are we going to leave or discuss this?" 

"I'm not the one yakking on and on--" 

"Shut up." 

"That's the second timmmph!" 

"Listen." 

Somewhere behind them, the far side of the lean-to, there was a voice. It appeared to be holding a conversation, but the other person was speaking far too quietly to be heard. More importantly they could feel the growing swell of an Immortal approaching. 

"The car." Methos stated firmly, not even bothering to look back. 

"The car." Amanda agreed, and they both slipped out of the shelter of the rickety building and towards the red land-rover in the middle of the yard. Methos scrambled into the driver's seat, and leaned under for a moment. The engine coughed and turned over. 

"Move it!" Amanda glanced into the road ahead and gasped. "Stop! Adam, stop! It's Richie." 

Sure enough the boy was standing in the path of the car, and before Methos could bring the brakes fully to bear, there was a dull thud and an unpleasant lurch as the front wheel rolled over his body. In an instant Amanda was out of the car and dragging Richie out from under the car. A little slower to rush to the rescue Methos opened the door and walked around the car. _Much more of this and Mac'll just take my head to save himself the hassle of wondering who to blame this time._

Richie was unconscious and bloodied. A couple of ribs were probably fractured, maybe even puncturing the lung by the tyre tracks on the sweater and the blood seeping from his lips. Methos made an odd sound, almost as if he had been punched in the gut, and involuntarily leaned down. 

"Give me a hand here," Amanda said impatiently when the arm made no move to touch the young Immortal. 

"I'll be damned." He touched a finger to the sword even yet clutched in a grip of iron in Richie's hand. "I thought I got rid of this..." 

* * *

Duncan had found the keys and decided to drop in on Richie, when he was forestalled by Cedric and Vivian. They caught him just outside his room, and moved in so close that he instinctively backed into the small guest room, hand moving automatically to hilt. 

"I'm sorry to crowd you Duncan," Cedric began, "But I, that is, my family and I, have some things to tell you." 

"We were hoping to ask for your help, actually," Vivian burst in eagerly, as if she couldn't contain herself. Duncan looked narrowly at her, trying to reconcile the coolly competent woman of earlier with this simpering idiot. 

"Why would you need my help? I owe ye thanks for helping us out, and I'll do what I can, within the limits of my honour, but you seem well provided for." 

The two looked at each other then back at Duncan, by mutual, unspoken consent, Vivian went on. "It's like this Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. Where most things are concerned we are well found. We rarely go off our land though, and so we," she smiled sadly at him, indicating herself and Cedric, "have very little reason to fight. I fear a time is coming--" 

"The accident with your young friend makes it clear--" 

"And we will need help against the other Immortals, those who do not understand our philosophy. Our plans." 

"Plans?" Duncan looked from one to the other. _Not again,_ he thought tiredly. 

Vivian nodded at Cedric, who led the three of them down the stairs, away from Richie's room, to Duncan's mild annoyance. 

"Please, make yourself comfortable." Cedric leaned against the mantelpiece and waited until Vivian and Duncan had sat down. "We, Vivian and I, have lived here for, oh, about fifteen hundred years. He could see Duncan working the dates out. 

He nodded. "The Dark Ages were very dark," he shook his head sadly, eyes half closed as if remembering. "So many deaths, and all to no purpose." 

"We tried, as best we could," Vivian took over the story, "to direct things, people, towards a better way of life..." 

"Better, how?" Duncan asked warily. He'd seen honey traps like this before, more times than he could recall. 

"Safer, more organised," she shrugged, as if unable to explain precisely what she meant. "Just, _better_ " 

_For whom?_ Duncan wondered. It must have shown on his face, because they both looked worried, and Cedric stepped away from the hearth, closer to MacLeod. 

"what we're trying to say is that war is not the answer. Everything has a reason, but war's too cruel, too terrible to let it go on forever. We'd like to end it. We've tried, so many times in the last millennium, but," he shrugged, "it never seems to work. Not completely. Still, we've seen some amazing things." 

Duncan nodded quietly, thinking of the horror of killing that still seized him from time to time, despite it being his life. "I understand. Fighting's not the answer. I don't suppose the message got far when you started." 

Vivian nodded, a brief smile stretching her features. "They make such great strides when they have to." 

Duncan nodded again. "Why here? And what's the thing with the lake got to do with all this?" 

They exchanged a glance. "The lake's... a local story." Vivian sounded like she wanted it to be a final answer to his question. 

"Myths? I don't remember any from around this area. I lived near the borders for a while. I don't remember any..." he frowned, he _did_ remember water myths, kelpies, horse headed water spirits that drowned the unwary. But that was just fancy. But Richie _had_ been in the water... 

"You mean like kelpies and sich?" he said incredulously before he could go too many times around the circle, and was pleased, if embarrassed, to see his hosts attempting to restrain grins. 

"No, no. Just, well, ghosts, and stories of men drowning when there was no cause, no reason." 

"Someone said something about 'him under the water'." Duncan remarked and was grimly satisfied to see the momentary fury that crossed Vivian's face. 

"Some old story about a man trapped under the lake. Ridiculous. Probably the results of grief after a drowning, the body never recovered. That sort of story is a comfort to the family." Cedric intervened. 

Duncan blinked slightly. He'd heard of a lot of coping mechanisms for grief - god knew he'd had cause to use a lot of them himself. But this? Did either of them seriously think he was going to buy into these platitudes? . He shook his head for a moment, losing his thread. 

Vivian smiled at him. "Mr MacLeod, basically we try to look after the human race, helping them to their full potential through the chaos. It may not look like much here, but you might be surprised at what we can achieve--" 

"A little money, a helping hand. We pick and choose our people, and the things we want them to do, very carefully." 

Duncan's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Just what are we talking about here?" 

"Research - medical, some other areas. Helping bright students. Fixing problems before they become disasters... It's mostly seeing that the right people are in the right place at the right time. It doesn't always work," she shrugged. "People are people after all. Some events are random. Some are," she paused for a fraction of a second, " _arrangeable._ " 

Duncan frowned, his distaste growing more evident. 

"Oh, nothing harmful," she hastened to add, and Duncan met the clear hazel eyes, and tried to read them. "From what we've heard of your reputation, it's the sort of thing you do yourself - helping out the odd mortal, and pre-Immortal, from a distance." He could discern nothing from them, and reluctantly decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Almost as if she saw the acceptance in his face, she smiled up at him again. 

"In fact, it's maybe even something you would like to do yourself? _You've_ seen the pointlessness of the mortal lives wasted for want of care and attention. We try to prevent that." 

"How? It all sounds good, but you've not said anything concrete. And how do you run things if you never leave here?" 

"We do go abroad occasionally. But mostly we bring people here, train them, and once they're loyal, we let them run things. We get regular reports... I'm boring you I'm sure," he stopped abruptly. 

"No, no, do go on," Mac was torn between boredom and curiosity, but stayed polite. "So you, what, back research, that kind of thing?" 

"Generally," Cedric lied. "Sometimes it's a little more hands on, working with the homeless, the poor. You know. helping them to help themselves." He was careful not to meet Vivian's eyes. _Just as well we didn't let Simon come along, he'd have laughed or done something equally stupid by now, otherwise,_ he thought scornfully. 

_Helping them to help themselves, indeed, Cedric. I've taught you well,_ Vivian thought from her corner of the room, her eyes narrowing a little. _Perhaps I'd do well to keep an eye on now. This close, I can't afford you suddenly starting to think._

"The best way is to start from the beginning," Cedric said suddenly. "Come with me, I want to show you something." 

"I'll just check in on Richie first, if--" 

"I'll get someone to do that for you. Your young friend's sleeping," Cedric said confidently of the sleeping draught that Richie had been slipped in the warm tea Duncan had made him drink. Vivian had liked that, a nice ironic touch, and one she had used to lethal effect on others before them. He smiled at her and she nodded back, acknowledging his unspoken compliment. 

"Yes, I checked in on him myself a little while back," Vivian added. "But certainly, if you want to look--" 

Duncan shook his head, "He needs the sleep more. If I go charging in he'll wake up. Where did you want to go?" 

"Just downstairs." Cedric tucked an arm familiarly in Duncan's and Vivian watched, amused as MacLeod drew himself away. 

* * *

"Here." Cedric pulled open the barn door, and gestured Duncan inside. "We've been here a long time." 

"I can see that." Mac replied, looking around the room. The structure was the kind that he had only ever seen in history books, heavy beams criss-crossed across the roof, holding up a woven roof of branches. From the outside it had been covered in corrugated iron, presumably a concession to the ever-present rain. He shook his head briefly, and smiled. "At least eighth century?" 

"Spot on!" Cedric said delightedly. "Now, I have someone to appreciate history, finally," he added with a mock stern look at the red headed woman who stood waiting at the door way. 

"If you don't mind, I'm going to get on with some chores, check up on Simon, that sort of thing," she answered, and pushed her shoulders away from the door and walked away, back towards the house. 

Cedric sat in one of the chairs, and waved Mac to another. Duncan stayed on his feet, taking in the large barn. 

"Anyway. This is part of what I wanted to show you. We're a big organisation these days, but back at the start, it was pretty much what you can see, without the furniture. 

"I suppose I should start at the very beginning... I was born in France, when it was part of the Roman Empire. Then it was the Gaulish empire, the Roman empire, the Frankish empire... I died aged eighteen, run through by some soldier. He wore imperial red, but that was what they all wore. God knows who he was fighting for, or maybe he just thought I'd have money on me, god knows why, Caesar had taxed it all out of us for the wars. I left for Britain, where the tribes had pretty much driven out the empire. As I arrived the fourth legion were being recalled to Rome." He shrugged, "Not that it made much difference. Darius was halfway across Europe by then, and was at the gates of Paris fifty years later. All I knew was that I kept getting killed by people whose language I didn't recognise, and lumped them all in together. Britain was going to have no Romans, and by definition would be 'better'." He laughed, and Duncan nodded. 

"It never is, though, is it?" he said, anticipating the direction this was taking. 

Cedric nodded ruefully. "I know that now, know to reach the symptoms by attacking the root cause, but then, I didn't even know what I was. I didn't meet an Immortal in twenty years, was too poor to have a mirror... I never stayed anywhere long enough to have my miraculous youth remarked on. 

"So, here I am, and what happens? Someone invades. Naturally. They came down from Scandinavia, Jutes, Saxons, Danes... wave after wave of them." He sighed and met MacLeod's eyes, which were curious, and sympathetic. 

"It must have been hard?" 

Cedric nodded. "Very. Around then I met Felix Longivus..." 

"Subtle name." Duncan's eyebrow lifted in question. 

"Subtle as an axe. Couple of hundred years in the game, a foot soldier with Trajan... " he shook his head reminiscently. "I've since learned that every old campaigner sounds like Felix did, but back then he was like a father and general and miracle worker all rolled into one, and the _stories_ he could tell. Well, camp fire was never boring. He told me all about Immortals, right there, in front of the men, who called him the biggest liar in the Hesperides: He used to be proud of the title even. 

"So I join the campaigns against the Saxon, and fairly soon, it becomes obvious we're going to need more man power. I'm no politician, back then I let others work at the tough stuff, I just fought with Longivus, and felt like I was helping." 

"Then there was a big battle." Cedric paused and seemed lost in recollection. After long moments he started speaking again, overwhelming anger in his voice. "The commander in chief was betrayed by his bodyguard, an amoral, self-serving, ambitious bastard of an Immortal called Bedfyr. There was a chance for us to win, there at Bath, but whatever we gained that day..." He paused and shook his head, momentarily lost in his own mind. 

"Even though we won the battle, the war was lost along with the king. It could have been salvaged, even then, but the same man, together with another Immortal conspired to destroy everything. They threw the king's sword into the lake. Without it there could be no heir." His shoulders slumped. "Whoever carried the sword led the troops. Simple as that. No sword, no way to decide who was to take charge, and it all fell apart with in-fighting. 

"I wanted to never see it happen again." He rose to his feet and moved towards the back of the barn, pausing momentarily at the buzz of at least one immortal nearby, before remembering the coffins out the back. They must be in sensing range. He saw Duncan pause as he followed him, and said, "Just Vivian or Simon. Don't worry about it." Duncan nodded, and walked after him. 

He glanced backwards at Duncan as he reached for the casing on the High Table. "To remind myself, and as a symbol of what I decided to do, I got the sword back out of the water." He opened the case by touch as Duncan came up next to him, offering a quick smile at the younger man. "There," he said, and gasped in horror. It was gone. 

* * *

Amanda scooped up the sword that had fallen from Richie's hand, and dropped it on the back seat with him. 

"Carefully," Methos mocked, "You don't know where he's been." Amanda ignored him, leaning under the steering wheel again instead. 

"Accelerator." 

Methos pushed lightly at the pedal, and was surprised by a roar of engine as the spark caught. 

"What are you waiting for," Amanda asked as she pulled herself back into an upright position into the front passenger seat. "Move it!" 

Methos threw a sardonic look at her but refrained from answering. "What am I? Your chauffeur?" 

"No, if you were at least I could have the pleasure of firing you." 

"Perhaps we should find out some more about this..." Methos turned to look back at the house. 

Amanda interrupted. "It's broad daylight, and we're stealing one of their cars. If you want to 'explore' then I suggest you come back later. Right now, you don't even know where you are." She was leaning forward in her seat, stretching to see all around. 

"Yes, I do." 

"What was that again?" 

Methos turned back in his seat and released the handbrake. "I think I know where we are." 

"Where?" 

"In trouble." 

He jerked his head towards the barn they had all just come out of. Another figure, tall, with dirty blond hair was rushing out. Methos slipped the clutch and the tyres spun for a moment on the gravel before finding a purchase and pulling away. The Immortal ran after them, and over the sound of the engine she could hear, "Come back! I saw you! Bring it back! Stop him, kill them if you have to. They're taken it! They've taken it!" 

Amanda was looking back, half an eye on Richie, and saw the house empty of people in a great swarm. They milled about for a moment, then seemed to find direction. In the middle of the crowd, moving with the gestures and look of authority, was Duncan MacLeod. 

"Oops." she mumbled. 

Methos glanced at her. "Define 'oops'." 

"Um, you know that crowd back there? Well, we seem to have really pissed them off." 

"I'm not surprised. I think I saw Cedric lurking around there." 

"Um, well, I'm glad he's a friend of yours, because MacLeod's with him." 

Methos groaned, covering his eyes briefly with one hand as the car lurched down the bumpy track. "Of course he's there. He's probably buying into their 'greater good of mankind' speech even as we speak." The car lurched more than before into a huge rut, and Amanda fell across Methos. From behind them there was a thud. 

Methos ignored it, still muttering darkly. 

"Oops," Amanda said, taking a peek over Methos' shoulder into the back. Richie had rolled off the seat, and his torso was wedged between the front and back seats, his head swaying alarmingly with  
every motion of the car, and thumping quite hard up against the passenger door. 

Methos made an interrogative sound, then added on second thoughts, "Do I want to know?" 

"Richie fell off the seat." 

"Mac's not here to hold his hand, of course he fell off the seat." Methos said sourly. "Have a look and see if they're catching us." 

Not so far as I - oof- can see." Another pot hole threw her half way into the back of the car. 

Thus it was when Richie finally came to, he was nose to nose with Amanda. He blinked slightly, and Amanda watched with amusement as a smirk crossed his face, only to obliterated by a jolt which knocked his nose hard on her teeth, before letting his head slam backwards onto the floor. 

"Ow! Who's _driving_ this thing?" There was an undignified scramble, and Amanda managed to jerk herself back into her seat. Richie's head appeared seconds later, and he met Methos' eyes in the rear view mirror, and groaned, covering his eyes. "Amanda, tell me that the oldest driver in the world hasn't got control of this?" 

Amanda sniggered, looking carefully at Methos' hands on the wheel. "You're right, he hasn't." 

The hand lifted for a moment, and a pair of light blue eyes examined the evidence, and were covered up again. "You're right. He may be behind the wheel, but he's not in c-control," he stuttered over a particularly large bump. He winced as the gears ground, and the car was manhandled around a sharp right. Then, blissful, impossible smoothness. _Tarmac! Thank you!_ Richie thought fervently. 

_Nothing to do with me,_ Myrddin replied with amusement. 

"I wasn't talking to you" Richie snapped back. 

The two in the front glanced at each other, and then back at Richie. "Uh, weren't talking to whom?" Methos asked mildly. 

"Shit." _That about covers it,_ a small voice commented. 

* * *

Heedless of Duncan, Cedric rushed to a door that had been almost hidden in the darkness at the back of the barn. He narrowed his eyes, expecting the bright sunlight to pour in, but there was no change for a moment. There was a wail of rage, "No!" and as Duncan hurried after, another door was flung wide, revealing the tiny back room with two upright, empty coffins in it. He frowned, more and more concerned by the whole thing, and followed Cedric out through the small door into the yard. 

There he found twenty or thirty people milling about, and Cedric yelling at them. 

"Stop them!" He pointed towards a car accelerating away through the gates, literally, through them, and Duncan froze for a second - it was _his_ car. 

"The thieves are in it?" he asked rhetorically. 

Someone turned, "Yes, they've taken it... Was it your car?" he added, recognising the stranger from the night before. 

"Yes," growled Duncan, who ran to a second car. "Keys!" he roared. 

Heads snapped round and Cedric suddenly was there, "Yes, yes, here, of course you'll help us, they've taken your property too. Will you help us? You've got to help us, MacLeod, the sword... it's gone..." he babbled. 

Duncan scowled and snatched the keys out of the distraught man's hand. "Give me that." He turned and asked generally, "Did anyone see who it was?" There was an awkward silence, and then someone volunteered, 

"It was a man and a woman, dark haired, perhaps late twenties, early thirties. There was another one, the kid you brought in this morning," the young woman accused Duncan. 

"That's not possible, he--" 

"I saw him carrying the sword. They nearly ran him over, and then they picked him up, put him in the car, and left." She turned to face Cedric, "I tried to stop them, but I couldn't keep up." She looked like she was about to burst into tears, and Cedric dropped a hand onto her shoulder briefly to comfort her. 

"Don't worry, we'll get them back," he said softly, viciously. 

"Richie? How can Richie be involved? You assured me he was safe in bed. Did you even bother to check? First you tell me he's delirious and needs his sleep, and now he's running around?" he glared accusingly at Cedric, who turned towards Vivian expectantly. 

"He _should_ have been asleep," she said darkly. "You might find he's not quite the Richie you remember when we find him." 

Duncan paused as he slid into the driver's seat. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" 

Vivian shoved Cedric towards the car and got in herself. "He fell in the lake," she said simply, as if this should make all plain. 

"What is it about the bloody lake," he snapped, pushing the accelerator to the floor, and scattering the crowd around them as he drove furiously out of the compound. 

"I told you - it's magic." Cedric reminded him, equally simply. 

" _Magic_?" he said sceptically, gripping the steering wheel ferociously to keep from lurching forwards and out through the windscreen as the car bumped it's way down the long rutted lane to the main road. 

"Whether you believe us or not, MacLeod, what's important is the effect. Would he do something like this normally?" 

MacLeod drove. _Not without a damn good reason,_ he thought, clenching his jaw to keep the words in, more and more unconvinced by the whole thing. 

* * *

"So, you're hearing voices?" Methos said calmly. 

"Not _hearing_ as such, more like, um, and there's only one. It's not _voices_." Richie glanced up from his examination of his jeans and then dropped his eyes again as the two elder Immortals continued to just watch him, curiously, as if he was some cute animal that had done an interesting trick, and, if they waited long enough, might do it again. 

"So what would you call it?" 

"Reminders. Sort of remembering what I was going to do when I got to this point, and then what next, and so on and so on." 

"And getting you to steal swords that are a couple of thousand years old." Methos said neutrally. 

Richie looked shamefaced, and twisted said sword awkwardly in his hands. 

"Where are we going?" he asked a moment later. 

Methos nodded towards the water. "I think I would like to get away from there first." 

"What good will that do? He'll still be inside my head." Richie said without thinking, then cried out as his skull seemed to implode with pain. 

The car screeched to a halt and Methos turned around fully in the seat. He grasped Richie's chin and forced his head up. Blue eyes met brown and Methos' lips tightened. 

"I know you," he said quietly, and let go. "There's a place nearby we can discuss this." He glanced back down the road to see another car pulling out of the farm turning. It was a fair bet it was the other Immortals, maybe even Duncan too. _That's pretty much a given,_ he thought resignedly. He restarted the stalled engine, and headed towards the northerly end of the valley. 

* * *

"Come on!" Richie was virtually dancing in impatience around the ancient Immortal as the three of them toiled upwards. He'd quickly recovered from the spasm of pain in the car, and once they had parked, had rushed up the hill when Methos told him that there was a good view down to the lake from the top, and somewhere safe to talk. 

"Why did I bother?" Amanda sighed, a good twenty metres behind them. She looked over her shoulder down the hill. They'd abandoned a perfectly good car because Richie was hearing voices, and Methos wanted to say hello. She shook her head in bemusement. Live she never so long, she'd never figure them out. _Like father, like son, that's the only way to describe it. MacLeod is always pulling stunts like this, and what do I do? I tag along for the good of my health._

"If I wanted to explain everything to you, I'd pick somewhere more comfortable," Methos snapped as Richie started in on the "Aw but" 's again. 

"How'll I learn if you guys won't teach me?" 

"If you'd learnt anything at all, it should have kept you out of the water." 

""I wasn't to know there'd be resident psychopaths in it!" 

"Why are we here?" Amanda called up towards them. She caught up to the two men, and stopped. The sun was low in the sky, but the clear blue reached all around, hazing out the hills and mountains. Below she could see a stream, the long thin water reaching down towards Thirlmere, a silver streak in the distance. A caravan park marred the view, but it was mostly deserted this time of year, and those few hardy souls who were staying there were off walking. But the thing that caught her attention was the stone circle. Not much more than boulders sticking up, pear shaped from the ground, crudely hewn and looking almost as though they had grown there, shouldering their way up through the grass. 

Slowly she walked around it. She reached the two largest stones, clearly a gateway, and paused, uncertain. She glanced back. "Do you think...?" her voice trailed off. 

"I don't know. What do you think?" Methos replied helpfully. 

Amanda stared at him for a moment, as if she had never seen him, then touched the stone. "Warm." 

"Sunny day." 

She nodded, and lifted her hand away. 

Richie waited. 

"What do you want, Death?" he asked, finally. Methos' eyes narrowed minutely, the barest indication that the remark was of any interest. 

"Did Mac tell you about this really freaky Quickening he and I experienced a year or so back?" he asked instead. 

Richie shook his head, and spread his hands helplessly as his mouth opened. "Don't be obtuse. The boy's not running things. I am." 

The dark haired Immortal nodded in agreement. "Of course it is. I'd been wondering where you got to."  
He took a couple of paces forwards into the circle. "Care to join us?" 

"Not really. I might separate me further than the six degrees." 

"Interesting choice of words." 

"I'm trapped, not ignorant." 

"Would someone mind not playing the stupid word games and just _say_ something," Amanda stalked up to glare at the two men. 

"It's quite simple. A friend of his trapped him a long time ago. Every now and then, he tries to get out, with minimal success I might add." Methos' eyes never swerved from looking at Richie, though his words were ostensibly addressed to Amanda. 

"I've never had you around." 

"You haven't, have you? I wonder why that is?" Methos agreed sweetly. Amanda winced inwardly. "Leave the boy alone." 

"No. He's got lots of gaps in his mind - that Demon left an awful mess. I wonder that you didn't try to help." 

"Not my style, Myrddin. He was healing quite nicely until you started poking around in that slush he calls a brain." 

"I suppose it's not you, to help out. Why don't you just look the other way, and I'll get on with it." 

"With _what_? Methos, is Richie all right? What's he talking about?" Amanda demanded. 

"Get him inside the circle." Methos suggested. Richie began to back away, very slowly, and Amanda gaped. 

"I don't believe this," she snapped. "Come here." With a quick move Richie was tugged over the boundary of the circle. "See. Nothing happened," she said triumphantly, then hesitated as Richie fell to his knees, hands clasped to his head. "Rich?" she dropped to one knee, face full of concern, one slender hand reaching to touch his shoulder comfortingly. Another hand closed over hers and stopped her before she could touch Richie, gently pulling her back. She glanced up with a half frown, to find Methos shaking his head. 

"Richie?" he asked. 

"Did you _have_ to?" he replied weakly. "Ow. He was going to go." 

"He was lying, trust me." Methos crouched a little distance away from him. 

"As far as I could throw you, grandpops." Richie jibed. He frowned for a moment. "Why did they trap him?" 

Methos sat down and sighed. "Because he was unpredictable, and more powerful than any of them. It was a lot easier to keep him out of the loop." 

"But he _agrees_ with them. He thinks the world would be better off for chaos and violence, just like they do." 

"What makes you think that?" Methos asked mildly, smiling at Richie's odd ideas. "Cedric is a petty mercenary who thought that he should have been a king. He sincerely believes in the supremacy of Immortals, and of himself among Immortals. He's spent a thousand years up here, waiting for the world to come to him, cap in hand." He shook his head and leaned back against a stone. "It's not going to happen." 

"Why would such an out of the way crew have a state of the art military operation going in the Pyrennees?" Amanda asked suddenly. "I mean, how come _we're_ here." 

"Did you get a look inside that cave at all? No?" he went on as Amanda shook her head. "Pity. You'd've liked it. State of the art computer kits, to match the goons. A satellite station in the heart of France. They'd be furious if they found out. I imagine it's part of the grand scheme." 

"To..." 

"To take over the world," Richie said wearily, rolling over onto his stomach from where he had been sitting in the damp grass. "What else do these guys ever want? That or to take mine or Mac's heads." 

"I imagine he's been running their thoughts for centuries. Maybe almost since the start. I reckon Cedric is no longer capable of independent thought, if he ever was." 

"Between your friend under the water and Vivian, I'm not surprised," Richie remarked, then had to cover a yawn, "Sorry, didn't get much rest when I was sleeping. Bad dreams." 

"I'm not surprised with that witch there," Methos said, then hit himself, realising what he'd said. "Of course she's there. Where else would she be. I knew she'd have to stay nearby when she trapped him. how did I ever forget?" 

"You didn't tell _her_ that though, did you, Bedfyr?" another voice sliced through the quiet. "I've been trapped here just as much as she is." 

"I know. It was worth the sacrifice. I quite liked Myrddin, but letting you fester in your dumb plotting, watching you stale with boredom and anger, that was worth it." Methos got to his feet slowly and walked towards the edge of the circle. 

"Come out. Come out and try me," Cedric snarled. 

"Don't try it, Methos." The Highlander hurried up to join the rest of them, barely breaking a sweat, Methos noticed, even after rushing up the hill. 

"Duncan. How nice of you to join us." Methos rubbed both hands over his face. "How unexpected." 

"Give me back the sword, Richie," Duncan said quietly, walking towards his young friend, and holding out one hand, wholly untroubled by the circle Simon and Cedric were taking such pains to stay outside of. 

"Sorry Mac. No can do." Richie smiled at him, and let the antique iron sword rest across his lap. 

"I've got your own sword here." Cedric offered, holding it out temptingly to the younger man. Richie shook his head stubbornly. 

"Don't need it. I like this one for now." 

"Richie, you promised you wouldn't steal." Duncan this time. 

Richie pulled a disgusted face at him. "I didn't steal it," he protested. "If anyone stole it, _he_ did. It was supposed to stay in the lake, so along he comes and insists on diving for it. No respect." He shook his head in reproof, and let his hands close a little more tightly over the metal. 

Duncan waved towards Cedric and Simon, prowling outside the circle. "They let me come ahead to talk to you. They know," he glanced at them momentarily, and a look of distaste passed over his face, "They know you've not been feeling well, and they'll, um overlook this." 

"No." Richie said flatly, sliding his hand to rest on the hilt. 

"Duncan, where's the other one?" Methos asked urgently. 

"Sorry?" Duncan half turned to look at him, surprised. "Who, Vivian? Back at the farm house. Why?" 

"Because they've always worked that way, one works while the others distract." His face tightened with something that might almost be worry, then the expression smoothed away, leaving Duncan to wonder if he had imagined it. He shrugged, starting to wonder himself. 

"What's the other one up to?" Methos repeated, uncannily echoing the Highlander's thoughts. 

* * *

Vivian stared at the computer screen. She yawned hugely, and then sighed. "I ought to go into business for myself," she said as she covered her mouth. She loved this, persuading the machines to sit up and dance to her tune. "This week the Pentagon, tomorrow the world," she grinned, then laughed. "Why bother with that any more," she wondered, but nonetheless coaxed it into obedience. 

She reached without looking for the can of beer sitting on the mouse mat, and frowned as her hand closed around a warm, empty tin. "Kate! Beer!" 

"Get your own, Vivian Faye," a woman's voice rang back through the intercom. 

"Aw Katie babe. I'm almost dying here, and I won't be much longer, and I'll love you forever..." 

"Stop whining!" But she was laughing, so she knew she'd gotten her way again. 

The beer appeared a moment later. Kate knew better than to linger, and was closing the door silently when Vivian called to her. 

"Where's Cedric? I ought to show him this." 

"They've all gone after the thief with Cedric and the visitor." 

"Oh. Okay. What thief?" she feigned ignorance.. 

Kate wandered back in and perched on the edge of the desk, her back to the computer screen. "The kid that was you were helping with this morning? The one with the hypothermia? He took that sword of Cedric's." 

Vivian began laughing. "Well, what do you know. Bet that got him going. Let me guess, total panic?" _Time for us to get out, but I'm not telling them that. Best to cut loose. That way I shouldn't have more than a few losses overall, even if we are driven out of here._ She thought sadly of the long years she had spent putting it all together, and somehow, by agreeing to help MacLeod, it had all fallen apart. First the boy in the water, then the sword. "You think we've been defeated here?" 

Kate nodded reluctantly. 

"Hey, don't worry. We'll be just fine, sword or no sword." She waved at the screen. "This is much better than a sharp pointy piece of metal." 

Kate turned and watched the screen, a countdown racing towards completion. "What's it doing?" she asked nervously. 

"That?" She grinned up at her. "Oh, just waiting for Cedric to say the word. Then we buy and sell, sell and buy." 

"What?" 

"Anything we want to." She smirked maliciously at the screen. "Anything we want." 

* * *

"Come out of the circle, boy." Cedric challenged Richie again. 

"Don't feel like it," he replied brattily. 

"Richie..." Duncan glared at him. "Give him the sword back." 

"It's not his. He stole it. Didn't he?" he turned to Methos, and stopped. The man was gone. He looked around, and spotted him at the foot of the hill, diving into a car. "Great. Stick around why don't you," he muttered, then met Cedric's eyes. "Is this Holy Ground too then?" 

"Come out here." 

Richie stood, slowly, and walked to the edge of the circle. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped out, raising the unfamiliar sword. 

"Use this," Cedric offered Richie's own blade, hilt first, and Richie shook his head, lifting the sword and taking his stance a few feet away. 

Cedric looked around beseechingly, "He can't use that, it's not right. I can't win, it's not a fair fight..." 

"Are you going to just yak about it, or are we going to fight?" Richie snapped, stalking closer. 

"Fight." Cedric swung Richie's sword round and up, launching his attack without warning. Richie stepped hastily back, warding off the overhead blows. The swords rang as they struck each other, and Duncan slowly backed away, out of range of the combatants. _Not my fight..._ he was leaning on his katana, not quite sure when it had made its way into his hands. Richie held his own. 

Duncan watched approvingly as the kid's shoulders strained, and forced the other away, following up with quick strikes towards Cedric's left side, unguarded for a moment. First blood. Cedric looked appalled, not so much at the injury, Duncan realised suddenly, as that it was his precious myth making, king borne sword that had sliced him open. 

He stood gaping far too long, a second, maybe two. It was as easy as that. The sword swung, and his head toppled from his shoulders, the rest of his body following a moment later, gravity taking over from suddenly lax muscles. 

The Quickening gathered, that otherwise windy place suddenly turning still and preternaturally quiet. Almost like a storm across the lake ripples gathered in the distance, moving slowly. Around Richie the grass bent low, pushed down by a breeze that touched nothing else, except Richie's hair, ruffling the short strands wildly as his eyes closed painfully. 

Thunder rumbled softly around the hills, as the lightning snapped between Cedric's body and Richie's. Duncan caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes, and saw Simon circling towards the kid as he knelt, exhausted, holding a short sword low and dangerous. 

"No, Simon, don't!" Duncan tried to protest, Amanda glanced up, startled, and Simon took his chance, running the dark haired Immortal clean through. 

"Amanda!" he was within feet of her body in a flash, staggering as gusts tried to push him from his feet.  
Simon held a sword over her neck. 

"You know her? You care what happens to her? Good. Leave me alone, Highlander," he growled. Duncan took a hesitant step closer, and swore. _I can't interfere..._ as he watched, Amanda's eyes opened, and she smiled painfully at him, then winked. Simon was raising the sword for the final strike, when Amanda's hand moved, snapping down then up, and something glinted briefly as it crossed the short space between the two. 

Simon stared at the dagger protruding through his breast bone, and screamed with pure rage. He lifted his arms again, but his hands betrayed him, loosening around the hilt of his sword until it dropped, too heavy to carry. 

Richie was still on the ground, leaning heavily on his hands, trying to catch his breath. He heard the noise, a woman's scream. Duncan's shout - "Amanda, no!". His eyes opened and he saw the other Immortal man fall, joining his partner in crime in death. Amanda was kneeling, still gripping one shoulder of the decapitated man, the head fallen between them. She let go and closed her eyes, letting the second Quickening rip through her, opening her arms ad eyes in a feral grin, laughing wildly as the power poured through her. Moments later it was over and Duncan picked her up. 

"What the hell did you do that for? He didn't harm you!" 

"Get a grip, Mac," she snapped, " _He_ attacked _me_. And he had no qualms about it. It was he - or one of his friends, that had us killed and brought here. I think they planned to simply wait till you had gone again, and then tie us up and execute us," she said sharply, too tired to pretty up the words. "Where's Richie?" 

"Here." The younger Immortal walked slowly towards them. "What was that? It was like he didn't even try to fight me." He turned the sword in the setting sunlight. "Do you think..." 

"No." Amanda and Mac said as one. 

"Mmm." He left the thought unfinished. "Where's the old guy?" 

"I saw him sneak off earlier," Amanda volunteered. "He was talking about the third one of them. Vivian, was that the name?" 

Duncan nodded, about to speak when another, wholly unexpected voice spoke. 

"They hunt in packs." The three immortal turned sharply to see the speaker. An old man stood there, short steel grey hair, pale grey eyes, bone structure sharp enough to cut with. 

"They always did." 

* * *

THIRLMERE FARM 

Methos jogged from the car through the buildings slowly, waiting to find the last of the trio of Immortals who had thought themselves hidden from him here for so long. _Not quite as successfully as you hoped, eh Cedric? I wonder if MacLeod or Ryan will take you?_ . The farm was still swarming with people, but no one had noticed him as he slipped from one shadow to another. He paused for a moment and glanced up along the roof lines at a sudden thought. There. 

He picked up his pace and was at the building in seconds. Some kind of communications place again by the look of the aerials and satellite dishes. He could feel her presence now. 

He drew his sword as he heard a chair scrape inside. 

"Cedric? That you?" 

He waited by the door until it opened then slammed it back, forcing her into the room. 

"Bedfyr. Well, you took your time getting here. I expected you about a week after he took that damn sword out the lake," she said coolly, ignoring the sword at her throat and backing into the room. 

"It was only a sword, and I could neutralise it," he shrugged. 

Vivian nodded. "I was impressed. You buried that story for nearly four hundred years. I don't think Cedric's ever forgiven you." 

"He thinks I killed him. Owein Ddantgwyn that is. The dragon," he added absently, staring at the computer banks behind Vivian. "Would you like to explain that?" he pointed with his sword towards the screens, as the clock slowly flicked through another minute. 

"Oh, just a little something." 

Methos sighed, a combination of irritation and boredom on his face. "Are you going to turn it off, or shall I? I didn't enjoy killing Felix, and I'm sure I won't enjoy killing you, but I can always make exceptions." 

"No thanks, I think I'll let it run. Put the sword down." She said it deeply, and waited, eyes intent. 

Methos just laughed. "It doesn't work on me, I wonder why. Could it be I'm actually brighter than you thought? Beeswax is _such_ an old trick." He lifted his sword. "Do or die." 

"Then die, old man." Vivian threw the dregs of the glass of beer in his face, but Methos ducked, quickly wiping the residue away, moving before she had brought her sword out completely to slap the blade away. "Turn it off," he asked her almost gently, pinning her wrist to the table with the sword edge. 

She spat at him., and reached with her other hand for the keyboard. He hit her, hard, and she tumbled to the floor unconscious. He picked her up and dropped her onto a chair, torso over the seat, head dangling off one side. He raised his sword for the final blow, and hesitated. He couldn't do it here. Too many people to get through, and moreover, he had a nagging feeling that this was Holy Ground - it would be very like Cedric to come up with a dim idea like dousing the boundaries with holy water, and think that made it Holy Ground. With his luck, it might even be true. He lifted the sword again, telling himself it probably wasn't... but if it was...He frowned, and heaved her up over one shoulder, hurrying for the car. 

  
He was in luck, the place seemed deserted now, no one saw them, or at least, did nothing about it if they did. Five minutes later they were well away from the farm. 

He parked on the roadside, and unceremoniously yanked her out of the car, heaving her over the wall separating the road from the lakeside. She moaned, and he pulled her head up to find her eyes flickering open. 

"Fair fight or get on with it?" he mused as he vaulted the wall to join her. She heard, that much was plain. Her eyes widened, and she tried to scramble away from him. She almost made it to her feet, and then had to stop herself, arms windmilling, eyes wide with fear, as she nearly tumbled into the water. 

"No, wait there." He shoved her away, hard, and as she fell, landing on hands and knees, facing towards the water, his sword re-appeared. 

"No, MacLeod's the romantic," he decided. "I'm the pragmatist." 

"Think of her as a present from me, Myrddin..." he added as the blade swung down. 

* * *

CASTLECRAG STONE CIRCLE 

The old man walked closer, and Richie edged backwards, a little behind Duncan and Amanda. 

"Don't be silly. I just came for the sword." He held out a hand. "I wanted to thank you for fetching it." 

"I don't remember doing that." Richie said aggressively, holding the sword across his body. "Why should I believe you?" 

Myrddin shrugged. "Don't then. As you wish." He began walking away, and Richie hurried after him. 

"Just like that? You'll regret it." 

"Possibly." The old man shrugged. "However, I can afford to wait." 

"Tell me, Fyanon," Methos said casually. "Did you ever break that spell of Vivian's?" 

The old man smiled at him, only Methos spotting, with long centuries of practice with this man, the lie. "She was a good student, but not that good." 

"You're bound here," Methos waved towards the lake. "Bound to the cave. How long can you stay out for?" he began to smile viciously. "I'll bet you'd love to be out, making sure they're not letting their little plots stray too far from your plans." 

"I don't know what you mean." 

Richie looked at him oddly. "You said they were your friends, that they were your hands and eyes. I don't get it --" 

"Don't you?" Methos lifted an eyebrow at Duncan. 

Duncan nodded slowly, "Double cross. He's using both ends against the middle. Why?" 

"For the same purpose he ever wanted. Chaos. If there's chaos, then order has to struggle to survive, and Fyanon - Myrddin - whatever you want to call yourself these days, believes that is the way to create a stronger race." 

"But --*why" Richie asked finally, looking questioning from one face to the other. It was Fyanon who answered, oddly enough. "Because that's what I believe. For order to exist there must be chaos, for chaos, order. If you like, it's survival of the fittest." 

"But you shouldn't be _choosing_ who you think are and are not fit," Methos said as gently as Duncan had ever heard him. "That's always been your flaw, believing that you can create the pattern, or make it change to fit your world view." 

"You killed her, didn't you?" Amanda asked Methos quietly. "The woman Immortal?" Methos looked at her for a moment. 

"Yes." 

"What were they going to do?" 

Methos shrugged. "I don't know. I just stopped it." 

"How?" Duncan asked, "If you didn't know what they were doing?" 

Methos grinned. "I used my cosmic powers to locate the off switch." Richie snorted with laughter then looked around. 

"Where's _he_ gone, now?" he asked exasperatedly, gesturing to the space where the old man had been a moment ago. 

"Celebrating I expect. When her body went into Thirlmere it started to break the binding. He won't be free for a while though." 

"Do we _want_ him free?" Duncan asked. 

"Probably not. Tell you what, Richie, you can do what I tried to do. Chuck that sword into the lake." 

"Me? but why? Don't you want to?" 

Methos shrugged again. "You'll enjoy it more." 

Duncan looked as though he wanted to ask more, but Methos shook his head almost imperceptibly, and mouthed, "Later." 

"Okay, so, shall we do it like now?" Richie said, bouncing slightly. All three older Immortals groaned. 

"I think I'd like a meal and a good night's sleep first, _if_ you don't mind." Amanda said sharply. "Keswick's just down the road from here. We should be able to find _somewhere_ that'll take you all." Her tone successfully implied that she would have no trouble obtaining a room under any circumstances, and that they might consider themselves lucky to be with her, and therefore able to benefit from this when any normal hotel would throw them out on sight. The three men exchanged glances, and wisely kept silent as they all started back for the cars. 

* * *

TWELVE HOURS LATER, THIRLMERE WATER 

The three immortals met again at the foot of the hill, by the lake. 

"Well, did you find him?" Duncan demanded as Methos joined them. 

He shrugged. "Gone." 

"Dead gone, or gone gone?" Richie asked. Methos smiled faintly. 

"As far as I know, not being psychic, just _gone_. If he's dead, then he's dead. If he's alive, he's well hidden or elsewhere." 

There was a long silence, then Richie drew the sword that had caused so much aggravation. "In there?" he jerked with his thumb towards the lake. 

"Yeah. If you can, make it near the clear still place in the middle. It's deeper there." Methos suggested. 

Duncan rowed slowly, pulling the oars back through the water. At the front of the boat, Richie sat, huddled in a thick sweater and heavy leather jacket. The only sound in the pre-dawn greyness was the water, splashing against the little dingy, swirling around the blades of the oars. 

Richie shivered. Duncan glanced up. 

"You don't have to do this," he said softly, trying not to disrupt the quiet. Almost imperceptibly, Richie's head shook. 

"No. It's, you know, right." He lifted the sword for a moment, then dropped it again onto his lap. "Do you..." 

"Hmm?" Duncan encouraged. 

"Do you think I was really hearing Myrddin? Or did I just dream him up?" 

"I saw him too," Duncan reminded him. 

"Well, was he an Immortal?" 

Duncan shrugged. "Does it matter?" 

Richie started to answer, and then paused. "I thought it did, but... " he shrugged, then smiled deprecatingly at himself. "I couldn't use it, even if it were true." He pulled a face, "I get a great idea for a story about the Arthurian romances, and I can't use it because it would endanger my whole life." He paused thoughtfully, waiting for Duncan to say something, but nothing was forthcoming. 

"Will he come back for it?" he asked softly, as he stood in the precariously rocking boat. 

"I hope not," Duncan said finally. "I hope not." He rested the oars in the rowlocks, and waited. Richie hefted the sword, once, twice, then brought it back over his shoulder and snapped his arm forwards. The weapon whistled as it arced through the air. Far out, it hit the grey mirror of still water, and vanished. The two Immortals watched for long minutes, Richie still standing, Duncan turned on the seat to watch, but nothing happened. 

"I feel like an idiot for expecting something to happen." 

"A hand in white samite rising from the waters?" he was teased. Then Duncan's face lost its smile. "No, I know what you mean." He shrugged. "Perhaps it wasn't magic." 

"Pity." Richie sat down, and Duncan bent to the oars again. 

On the shore, a man with sharper eyes than theirs watched too. Methos stood hunched in a heavy black overcoat, hands jammed deep into pockets. He watched as the sword dipped into the water, and vanished. Somewhere between the waves he could almost see the glint of movement that bespoke a human body. He nodded slowly, as though receiving news he expected, and had no wish to hear. 

"Welcome back, Fyanon. It's been... instructive." 

  
Finis 


End file.
